SCENE, The Park.

ANGELICA send it back unopen'd! say you?

As you see, Sir.

The Pride of these vertuous Women is more insuffe­rable, than the immodesty of Prostitutes—After all my Incouragement to slight me thus!

She said, Sir, that imagining your Morals sincere, she gave you access to her Conversation; but that your late Behaviour in her Company has con­vinc'd her, that your Love and Religion are both Hypocrisy, and that she be­lieves your Letter like your self, fair on the outside, foul within; so sent it back unopen'd.

May Obstinacy guard her Beauty till Wrinkles bury it, then may De­sire prevail to make her curse that untimely Pride her disappointed Age re­pents—I'll be reveng'd the very first opportunity—Saw you the old Lady Darling, her Mother?

Yes, Sir, and she was pleas'd to say much in your Commendation.

Ay, there's a Pattern for the young Men o'th' times, at his Medi­tation so early, some Book of pious Ejaculations, I'm sure.

This Hobbs is an excellent Fellow!

O Uncle Smuggler! to find you in this end o'th' Town is a Miracle.

I have seen a Miracle this Morning indeed, Cousin Vizard.

What was it, pray Sir?

A Man at his Devotion so near the Court—I'm very glad Boy, that you keep your Sanctity untainted in this infectious place; the very Air of this Park is heathenish, and every Man's Breath I meet scents of Atheism.

Surely Sir, some great Concern must bring you to this unsanctified end of the Town.

A very unsanctify'd Concern, truly Cousin.

What is't?

A Law-Suit, Boy—Shall I tell you?—My Ship the Swan is newly arriv'd from St. Sebastians, laden with Portugal Wines: Now the impu­dent Rogue of a Tide-waiter has the face to affirm, 'tis French Wines in Spa­nish Casks, and has indicted me upon the Statute—O Conscience, Con­science! These Tide waiters and Surveyors plague us more with their French Wines, than the War did with French Privateers—Ay, there's another Plague of the Nation—.

A red Coat and Feather.

Col. Standard, I'm your humble Servant.

May be not, Sir.

Why so?

Because—I'm disbanded.

How? broke!

This very morning, in Hide Park, my brave Regiment, a thousand Men that look'd like Lions yesterday, were scatter'd, and look'd as poor and simple as the Herd of Deer that gaz'd beside 'em.

Tal, al, deral

I'll have a Bonfire this night as high as the Monument.

A Bonfire! thou dry, wither'd, ill nature; had not these brave Fel­lows Swords defended you, your House had been a Bonfire e're this about your Ears— Did not we venture our Lives, Sir?

And did not we pay you for your Lives, Sir?—Venture your Lives! I'm sure we ventur'd our Money, and that's Life and Soul to me—Sir, we'll maintain you no longer.

Then your Wives shall, old Action: There are five and thirty strap­ping Officers gone this Morning to live upon free Quarter in the City.

O Lord! O Lord! I shall have a Son within these nine Months born with a Leading staff in his hand — Sir, you are —

What Sir?

Sir, I say that you are—

What Sir?

[Page 3]

Disbanded Sir, that's all— I see my Lawyer yonder.

Sir, I'm very sorry for your Misfortune.

Why so? I don't come to borrow Mony of you; if you're my Friend, meet me this Evening at the Rummer, I'll pay my Way, drink a Health to my King, Prosperity to my Country; and away for Hungary to morrow Morning.

What! you won't leave us?

What! a Souldier stay here! to look like an old pair of Colours in Westminster-Hall, ragged and rusty! No, no — I met yersterday a broken Lieutenant, he was asham'd to own that he wanted a Dinner, but beg'd eigh­teen pence of me to buy a new sheath for his Sword.

O, but you have good Friends, Colonel!

O very good Friends! my Father's a Lord, and my elder Brother a Beau.

But your Country may perhaps want your Sword agen.

Nay for that matter, let but a single Drum beat up for Volunteers between Ludgate and Charing-Cross, and I shall undoubtedly hear it at the Walls of Buda.

Come, come, Colonel, there are ways of making your Fortune at home — Make your Addresses to the Fair, you're a Man of Honour and Courage.

Ay, my Courage is like to do me wondrous Service with the Fair: This pretty cross Cut over my Eye will attract a Dutchess—I warrant 'twill be a mighty Grace to my Ogling— Had I us'd the Stratagem of a cer­tain Brother Colonel of mine, I might succeed.

What was it, pray?

Why to save his pretty face for the Women, he always turn'd his back upon the Enemy — He was a Man of Honour for the Ladies.

Come, come, the Loves of Mars and Venus will never fail, you must get a Mistriss.

Prithee, no more on't — You have awakn'd a thought, from which and the Kingdom I wou'd have stoln away at once —To be plain, I have a Mistriss.

And She's cruel?

No.

Her Parents prevent your Happiness.

Nor that.

Then she has no Fortune.

A large one, Beauty to tempt all Mankind, and Virtue to beat off their Assaults. O Vizard! such a Creature!—Hey Day! Who the Devil have we here?

The Joy of the Play-house, and Life of the Park,

Sir Harry Wildair newly come from Paris.

Sir Harry Wildair! Did not he make a Campain in Flanders some three or four years ago?

[Page 4]

The same.

Why, he behav'd himself very brav [...]ly.

Why not? Do'st think Bravery and Gaiety are inconsistent? He's a Gentleman of most happy Circumstances, born to a plentiful Estate, has had a genteel and easy Education, free from the rigidness of Teachers, and Pe­dantry of Schools. His florid Constitution being never ruffled by misfortune, nor stinted in its Pleasures, has render'd him entertaining to others, and easy to himself—Turning all Passion into Gaiety of Humour, by which he chuses rather to rejoice his Friends, than be hated by any; as you shall see.

Ha Vizard!

Sir Harry!

Who thought to find you out of the Rubrick so long; I thought thy Hypocrisy had been wedded to a Pulpit Cushion long ago—Sir, if I mistake not your Face, your Name is Standard.

Sir Harry, I'm your Humble Servant.

Come, Gentlemen, the News, the News o'th Town; For I'm just arriv'd.

Why, in the City end o'th Town we're playing the Knave to get Estates.

And in the Court end playing the Fool in spending 'em.

Just so in Paris; I'm glad we're grown so modish.

We are all so reform'd, that Gallantry is taken for Vice.

And Hypocrisy for Religion.

Alamode de Paris. Agen.

Not one Whore between Ludgate and Aldgate.

But ten times more Cuckolds than ever.

Nothing like an Oath in the City.

That's a mistake; for my Major swore a hundred and fifty last night to a Merchant's Wife in her Bedchamber.

P'shaw, this is trifling, tell me News, Gentlemen. What Lord has lately broke his Fortune at the Groomporters? or his Heart at New-Market, for the loss of a Race? What Wise has been lately suing in Doctors-Commons for Alimony? or what Daughter run away with her Fathers Valet? What Beau gave the noblest Ball at the Bath, or had the finest Watch in the Ring? I want News, Gentlemen.

Faith, Sir, these are no News at all.

But pray, Sir Harry tell us some News of your Travels.

With all my heart — You must know then, I went over to Amster­dam in a Dutch Ship; I there had a Dutch Whore for five Stivers: I went from thence to [...]anden, where I was heartily drub'd in the Battle with the but-end of a Swiss Musket. I thence went to Paris, where I had half a dozen Intreagues, bought half a dozen new Suits, fought a couple of Duels, and here I am agen in statu quo.

But we heard that you design'd to make the Tour of Italy; what brought you back so soon?

[Page 5]

That which brought you into the World, and may perhaps carry you out of it; a Woman.

What! Quit the Pleasures of Travel for a Woman! —

Ay, Colonel, for such a Woman! I had rather see her Ruell than the Palace of Lewis le Grand: There's more Glory in her Smile, than in the Iu­bilee at Rome; and I would rather kiss her Hand than the Pope's Toe.

You, Colonel, have been very lavish in the Beauty and Virtue of your Mistriss; and Sir Harry here has been no less eloquent in the Praise of his Now will I lay you both ten Guineas a piece, that neither of them is so pretty so witty, or so virtuous as mine.

'Tis done.

I'll double the Stakes— But, Gentlemen, now I think on't, how shall we be resolv'd? for I know not where my Mistriss may be found; she left Paris about a month before me, and I had an account—

How, Sir! left Paris about a month before you!

Yes, Sir, and I had an account that she lodg'd somewhere in St. Iames's.

How is that [...] Sir? Somewhere in St. Iames's, say you?

Ay, but I know not where, and perhaps mayn't find her this fort­night.

Her Name, pray, Sir Harry.

Ay, ay, her Name [...] perhaps we know her.

Her Name! Ay — She has the softest, whitest Hand that ever was made of Flesh and Blood, her Lips so balmy sweet.

But her Name, Sir.

Then her Neck and Breast;—her Breast do so heave, so heave.

But her Name, Sir, her Quality?

Then her Shape, Colonel.

But her Name I want, Sir,

Then her Eyes, Vizard!

P'shaw, Sir Harry, her Name, or nothing.

Then if you must have it, she's call'd the Lady— But then her Foot, Gentlemen, she dances to a miracle. Vizard, you have certainly lost your Wager.

Why you have lost your Senses; we shall never discover the Picture unless you subscribe the Name.

Then her Name is Lurewell.

S'Death, My Mistriss.

My Mistriss by Iupiter.

Do you know her, Gentlemen?

I have seen her, Sir.

Can'st tell where she lodges? Tell me, dear Colonel.

Your humble Servant, Sir.

Nay, hold Colonel, I'll follow you, and will know.

The Lady Lurewell his Mistriss! He loves her. But she loves me—but he's a Baronet, and I plain Vizard; he has Coach [Page 6] and six, and I walk a foot; I was bred in London, and he in Paris—That very Circumstance has murder'd me —Then some Stratagem must be laid to divert his Pretensions.

Prithee, Dick, what makes the Colonel so out of humour?

Because he's out of Pay, I suppose.

S'life that's true, I was beginning to mistrust some Rivalship in the Case.

And suppose there were, you know the Colonel can fight, Sir Harry.

Fight! Pshaw! but he can't dance, ha! We contend for a Woman, Vizard! S'life man, if Ladies were to be gain'd by Sword and Pistol only, what the Devil should all the Beaux do?

I'll try him farther

But wou'd not you, Sir Harry, fight for this Woman you so admire?

Fight! Let me consider. I love her, that's true— but then I love honest Sir Harry Wildair better. The Lady Lurewell is divinely charming— right—but then a Thrust ith' Guts, or a Middlesex Iury, is as ugly as the Devil.

Ay, Sir Harry, 'twere a dangerous Cast for a Beau Baronet to be t [...]ied by a parcel of greasy, grumbling, bartering Boobies, who wou'd hang you purely because you're a Gentleman.

Ay, but on t'other hand, I have Mony enough to bribe the Rogues with: So upon mature deliberation, I wou'd fight for her —but no more of her. Prithee, Vizard, can't you recommend a Friend to a pretty Mistriss by the by, till I can find my own? you have store I'm sure; you cunning poaching Dogs make surer game than we that hunt open and fair. Prithee now, good Vizard.

Let me consider a little —Now Love and Revenge inspire my Po­liticks.

P'shaw! thou'rt as long studying for a new Mistriss, as a Drawer is piercing a new Pipe.

I design a new Pipe for you and wholesom Wine, you'll therefore bear a little expectation.

Ha! say'st thou, dear Vizard.

A Girl of sixteen, Sir Harry.

Now sixteen thousand Blessings light on thee.

Pretty and Witty.

Ay, ay, but her Name, Vizard.

Her Name! yes —she has the softest whitest Hand that ever was made of Flesh and Blood, her Lips so balmy sweet.

Well, well, but where shall I find her, Man?

Find her—but then her Foot, Sir Harry; she dances to a Mi­racle.

Prithee don't distract me.

Well then, you must know, that this Lady is the Curiosity and Am­bition of the Town; her Name's Angelica. She that passes for her Mother is [Page 7] a private Bawd, and call'd the Lady Darling, she goes for a Baronets Lady (no disparagement to your Honour, Sir Harry) I assure you.

Pshaw, hang my Honour; but what Street, what House?

Not so fast, Sir Harry, you must have my Pasport for your Admittance, and you'l find my Recommendation in a Line or two will procure you very civil entertainment; I suppose 20 or 30 pieces handsomly plac'd will gain the Point; I'll ensure her sound.

Thou dearest Friend to a man in necessity —Here Sirrah, order my Coach about to St. Iames's, I'll walk across the Park.

SCENE, Lady Lurewell's Lodgings.

You're a Fool, Child; observe this, that tho a Woman swear, for­swear, lie, dissemble, backbite, be proud, vain, malitious, any thing, if she secures the main Chance, she's still virtuous, That's a Maxim.

I can't be persuaded tho, Madam, but that you really lov'd Sir Harry Wildair in Paris.

Of all the Lovers I ever had, he was my greatest Plague, for I cou'd never make him uneasy; I left him involv'd in a Duel upon my Account, I long to know whether the Fop be kill'd or not.

O Lord, no sooner talk of killing, but the Souldier is conjur'd up; you're upon hard Duty Colonel, to serve your King, your Country, and a Mistriss too.

The latter, I must confess, is the hardest; for in War, Madam, we [...]n be relieved in our Duty; but in Love who wou'd take our Post, is our [...]n [...]my; Emulation in Glory is transporting, but Rivals here intolerable.

[Page 9]

Those that bear away the Prize in the Field, should boast the same success in the Bed-chamber; and I think, considering the weakness of our Sex, we should make those our Companions who can be our Champions.

I once, Madam, hop'd the Honour of defending you from all Inju­ries thro a Title to your lovely Person, but now my Love must attend my Fortune. This Commission, Madam, was my Pasport to the Fair; adding a nobleness to my Passion, it stampt a value on my Love; 'twas once the life of Honour, but now its Hearse, and with it must my Love be buried.

What! Disbanded, Colonel?

Yes, Mrs. Parly.

Faugh, the nauseous Fellow, he stinks of Poverty already.

His misfortune troubles me, 'cause it may prevent my designs.

I'll chuse, Madam, rather to destroy my Passion by absence abroad, than have it starv'd at home.

I'm sorry, Sir, you have so mean an Opinion of my Affection, as to imagine it founded upon your Fortune.

And to convince you of your mistake, here I vow by all that's Sacred, I own the same Affection now as before. Let it suffice, my Fortune is con­siderable.

Now were he any other Creature but a man, I cou'd love him.

This only last request I make, that no Title recommend a Fool, Office introduce a Knave, nor a Coat a Coward to my place in your Affecti­ons; so farewel my Country, and adieu my Love.

To morrow Morning early, Madam.

So-suddenly! which way are you design'd to travel?

That I can't yet resolve on.

Pray, Sir, tell me, pray Sir, I entreat you, why are you so obstinate?

Why are you so curious, Madam?

Because —

What?

Because, I, I, —

Because! what, Madam? — pray tell me.

Because I design — to follow you.

[Page 10]

You need not, shall not, my Estate for both is sufficient.

Thy Estate! no, I'll turn a Knave and purchase one my self; I' [...] cringe to that proud Man I undermine, and fawn on him that I wou'd bite to death; I'll tip my Tongue with Flattery, and smooth my Face with Smiles; I'll turn Pimp, Informer, Office-broker, nay Coward, to be great; and sa­crifice it all to thee, my generous Fair.

And I'll dissemble, lye, swear, jilt, any thing but I'd reward thy Love, and recompence thy noble Passion.

Sir Harry, ha! ha! ha, poor Sir Harry, ha, ha, ha. Rather kiss her Hand than the Pope's Toe, ha, ha, ha.

What Sir Harry? Colonel, What Sir Harry!

Sir Harry Wildair, Madam —

What! is he come over?

Ay, and he told me — but I don't believe a Syllable on't.

VVhat did he tell you?

Only call'd you his Mistriss, and pretending to be extravagant in your Commendation, would vainly insinuate the praise of his own Judgment and good Fortune in a Choice —

How easily is the vanity of Fops tickled by our Sex!

VVhy, your Sex is the vanity of Fops.

O' my Conscience I believe so; this Gentleman, because he danc'd well, I pitch'd on for a Partner at a Ball in Paris, and ever since he has so persecuted me with Letters, Songs, Dances, Serenading, Flattery, Foppery, and Noise, that I was forc'd to fly the Kingdom — And I warrant he made you jealous.

Faith, Madam, I was a little uneasy.

You shall have a plentiful Revenge, I'll send him back all his foolish Letters, Songs and Verses, and you your self shall carry 'em, 'twill afford you opportunity of triumphing, and free me from his farther impertinence; for of all Men he's my Aversion. I'll run and fetch them instantly.

Dear Madam, a rare Project, how I shall bait him like Acteon, with his own Dogs — VVell, Mrs. Parley, 'tis order'd by Act of Parliament, that you receive no more pieces, Mrs. Parley —

'Tis provided by the same Act, that you send no more Messages by me good Colonel; you must not pretend to send any more Letters, unless you can pay the Postage.

Come, come! don't be Mercenary, take example by your Lady, be Honourable.

A lack a day, Sir, it shows as ridiculous and haughty for us to imitate our Betters in their Honour, as in their finery; leave Honour to Nobility that can support it: we poor Folks, Colonel, have no pretence to't; and truly, I think, Sir, that your Honour shou'd be cashier'd with your Leading-staff.

'Tis one of the greatest curses of Poverty, to be the Jest of Cham­ber-maids!

Here's the Packet Colonel, the whole magazine of Love's Artil­lery.

[Page 11]

To the right about as you were, march Colonel: ha, ha, ha.

SCENE, Clincher Iunior's Lodgings.

Very well, and what's your Name, Sir?

My Name is Dicky, Sir.

Dicky!

Ay, Dicky, Sir.

Very well [...] a pretty Name! and what can you do Mr. Dicky?

Why Sir I can powder a Wig, and pick up a Whore.

O Lord! O Lord! a Whore! Why are there many Whores in this Town?

Ha, ha, ha, many Whores! there's a Question indeed; why Sir, there are above five hundred Surgeons in Town — Harkee Sir, do you see that Woman therein the Velvet Scarf, and red Knots?

Ay Sir, What then?

Why she shall be at your Service in three minutes, As I'm a Pimp.

O Iupiter Ammon! why she's a Gentlewoman.

A Gentlewoman! Why so are all the Whores in Town, Sir.

Brother, you'r welcome to London!

I thought, Brother, you ow'd so much to the Memory of my Fa­ther, as to wear Mourning for his Death.

[Page 12]

Stay, stay Brother, where are you going?

How natural 'tis for a Country Booby to ask impertinent Questi­ons. Harkee Sir, is not my Father dead?

Ay, ay, to my sorrow.

No matter for that, he is dead, and am not I a young powder'd extravagant English Heir?

Very right Sir.

Why then Sir, you may be sure that I am going to the Iubilee, Sir.

Iubilee! what's that?

Iubilee! why the Iubilee is—faith I don't know what it is.

Why the Iubilee is the same thing with our Lord-Mayors Day in the City; there will be Pageants, and Squibs, and Rary-Shows, and all that Sir.

And must you go so soon Brother?

Yes, Sir, for I must stay a Month in Amsterdam, to study Poetry.

Then I suppose Brother, you travel through Muscovy to learn Fashions, Don't you, Brother?

Brother! Prithee Robin don't call me Brother; Sir will do every jot as well.

O Iupiter Ammon! why so?

Because People will imagin that you have a spight at me — But have you seen your Cousin Angelica yet, and her Mother the Lady Darling?

No, my Dancing Master has not been with me yet: How shall I salute them, Brother?

Pshaw, that's easy, 'tis only two Scrapes, a Kiss, and your hum­ble Servant: I'll tell you more when I come from the Iubilee. Come along.

SCENE, Lady Darling's House.

Well, if this Paper-kite flies sure, I'm secure of my Game— Humph! the prettiest Bordel I have seen, a very stately genteel one

Hey day! Equipage too! Now for a Bawd by the Courtesy, and a Whore with a Coat of Arms — s'Death, I'm afraid I've mistaken the House.

No, this must he the Bawd by her Bulk.

[Page 13]

Your Business, pray Sir?

Pleasure, Madam.

Then, Sir, you have no business here.

This Letter, Madam, will inform you further; Mr. Vizard sent it, with his humble Service to your Ladyship.

How does my Cousin, Sir?

Ay, her Cousin too, that's right Procuress agen.

Sir, your Fortune and Quality are sufficient to recommend you any where; but what goes farther with me, is the recommendation of so sober and pious a young Gentleman as Cousin Vizard.

A right sanctified Bawd o' my word.

Sir Harry, your Conversation with Mr. Vizard argues you a Gentle­man, free from the loose and vicious Carriage of the Town; I'll therefore call my Daughter.

Now go thy way for an illustrious Bawd of Babylon—She dresses up a Sin so religiously, that the Devil wou'd hardly know it of his making.

Pray Daughter use him civily, such Matches won't offer every Day.

O all ye Powers of Love! an Angel! S'Death, what Mony have I got in my Pocket, I can't offer her less than twenty Guineas —and by Iupiter she's worth a hundred.

'Tis he! the very same! and his Person as agreeable as his Cha­racter of good Humour—Pray Heav'n his Silence proceed from respect.

Now all the Charms of real Love and feign'd Indifference assist me to engage his Heart, for mine is lost already.

Madam—I, I—Zoons, I cannot speak to her—But she's a Whore, and I will—Madam in short, I, I—O Hypocrisy, Hypocrisy! What a charming Sin art thou?

He is caught, now to secure my Conquest—I thought Sir, you had business to impart.

Business to impart! how nicely she words it! Yes Madam, Don't you, don't you love singing Birds, Madam?

That's an odd Question for a Lover—Yes, Sir.

[Page 14]

Why then Madam, here is a Nest of the prettiest Goldfinches that ever chirpt in a Cage; twenty young ones, I assure you Madam.

Twenty young ones! What then, Sir?

Why then Madam, there are twenty young ones—S'Life I think twenty is pretty fair.

He's mad sure—Sir Harry, when you have learn'd more Wit and Manners, you shall be welcome here agen.

Wit and Manners!—I Gad now I conceive there is a great deal of Wit and Manners in twenty Guineas —I'm sure 'tis all the Wit and Manners I have about me at present. What shall I do?

What the Devil's here? another Cousin I warrant ye! Harkee Sir, can you lend me ten or a dozen Guineas instantly? I'll pay you fifteen for them in three hours upon my Honour.

These London Sparks are plaguy impudent! this Fellow by his Wig and Assurance can be no less than a Courtier.

He's rather a Courtier by his borrowing.

Faith Sir, I han't above five Guineas about me.

What business have you here then Sir, for to my knowledg twenty won't be sufficient.

Sufficient! for what Sir?

What Sir? Why, for that Sir, what the Devil should it be, Sir; I k [...]w your business notwithstanding all your Gravity, Sir.

My Business! why my Cousin lives here.

[...] know your Cousin does live there, and Vizard's Cousin, and my [...] every Bodies Cousin —Harkee Sir, I shall return immediately, [...] offer to touch her till I come back, I shall cut your Throat, Rascal.

Why the Man's mad sure.

Mad, Sir, ay, why he's a Beau.

A Beau! what's that! are all Madmen Beaux?

No Sir, but most Beaux are Madmen. But [...]ow for your Cousin; remember your three Scrapes, a Kiss, and your humble Servant.

SCENE, the Street.

SIR Harry, Sir Harry.

I'm in haste [...] Colonel; besides, if you're in no better humou [...] than when I parted with you in the Park this morning, your Company won't be very agreeable.

You're a happy man, Sir Harry, who are never out of humour: Can nothing move your Gall, Sir Harry?

Nothing but Impossibilities, which are the same as nothing.

What Impossibilities?

The Resurrection of my Father to disinherit me, or an Act of Par­liament against Wenching. A man of eight thousand Pound per Annum to be vext! No, no, Anger and Spleen are Companions for younger Brothers.

Suppose one call'd you Son of a Whore behind your back.

Why then wou'd I call him Rascal behind his back, and so we're even.

But suppose you had lost a Mistriss.

Why then I wou'd get another.

But suppose you were discarded by the Woman you love, that wou'd surely trouble you.

You're mistaken, Colonel, my Love is neither romantically honour­able, nor meanly mercenary, 'tis only a pitch of Gratitude; while she loves me, I love her; whe [...] she desists, the Obligation's void.

But to be mistaken in your Opinion, Sir, if the Lady Lurewell (only suppose it) had discarded you— I say only suppose it—and had sent your Discharge by me.

P'shaw! that's another Impossibility.

Are you sure of that?

Why 'twere a Soloecism in Nature, we're [...]inger and Thumb, Sir, She dances with me, sings with me, plays with me, swears with me, lies with me.

How Sir?

I mean in an honourable way, that is, she lies for me. In short, we are as like one another as a couple of Guineas.

Now that I have rais'd you to the highest Pinnacle of Vanity, will I give you to mortifying a Fall, as shall dash your hopes to pieces—I pray your Honour to peruse these Papers.

What is't, the Muster Roll of your Regiment, Colonel?

No, no, 'tis a List of your Forces in your last Love Campaign; and for your comfort all disbanded.

Prithee, good Metaphorical Colonel, what d'ye mean?

[Page 16]

Read, Sir, read, these are the Sybils Leaves that will unfold your Destiny.

So it be not a false Deed to cheat me of my Estate, what care I—

Humph! my Hand! to the Lady Lure­well—to the Lady Lurewell, —to the Lady Lurewell—What Devil hast thou been tampering with to conjure up these Spirits?

A certain Familiar of your Acquaintance Sir.

—Madam, my Passion— so natural — your Beauty contending — Force of Charms — Mankind —Eternal Admirer Wildair!—

I never was asham'd of my Name before.

What, Sir Harry Wildair out of humour, ha, ha, ha, poor Sir Harry; more Glory in her Smile than in the Jubilee at Rome, ha, ha, ha; but then her Foot, Sir Harry, she dances to a miracle! ha, ha, ha! Fy, Sir Harry, a Man of your Parts write Letters not worth a keeping! What say'st thou, my dear Knight Errant? ha, ha, ha; you may go seek Adventures now indeed.

— Let her wander, &c.

You are jilted to some tune, Sir, blown up with false Musick, that's all.

Now why should I be angry that a Woman is a Woman? since In­constancy and Falshood are grounded in their Natures, how can they help it?

Then they must be grounded in your Nature; for you and she are Finger and Thumb, Sir.

Here's a Copy of Verses too, I must turn Poet in the Devil's name— Stay—S'death, what's here? This is her Hand—Oh the charming Cha­racters! My dear Wildair.

That's I—this huff bluff Colonel— that's he— is the rarest Fool in Nature— the Devil he is! and as such have I us'd him— with all my heart faith —I had no better way of letting you know that I lodg in Pall Mall near the Holy Lamb— Colonel, I'm your most humble Servant.

Hold, Sir, you shan't go yet, I han't delivered half my Mes­sage.

Upon my faith but you have, Colonel.

Well, well, own your Spleen, out with it, I know you're like to burst.

I am so, by Gad, ha, ha, ha,

Ay, with all my heart, ha, ha.

Well, well, that's all forc'd, Sir Harry.

I was never better pleas'd in all my Life, by Iupiter.

Well, Sir Harry, 'tis prudence to hide your Concern, when there's no help for't—: but to be serious now, the Lady has sent you back all your Papers there—I was so just as not to look upon 'em.

I'm glad on't, Sir; for there were some things that I would not have you see.

[Page 17]

All this she has done for my sake, and I desire you would decline any farther Pretensions for your own sake. So honest, good natur'd Sir Harry, I'm your humble Servant.

Ha, ha, ha, poor Colonel!—O the delight of an ingenious Mi­striss! what a life and briskness it adds to an Amour, like the Loves of mighty Iove, still sueing in different shapes. A Legerdemain Mistriss, who, presto, pass, and she's vanish'd, then Hey, in an instant in your Arms agen.

Well met, Sir Harry, what news from the Island of Love?

Faith we made but a broken Voyage by your Card; but now I am bound for another Port: I told you the Colonel was my Rival.

The Colonel! curs'd Misfortune! another!

But the civilest in the world, he brought me word where my Mi­striss lodges; the Story's too long to tell you now, for I must [...]ly.

What! have you given over all thoughts of Angelica?

No, no, I'll think of her some other time, But now for the Lady Lurewell; Wit and Beauty calls.

—The Colonel my Rival too! how shall I manage? There is but one way —him and the Knight will I set a tilting, where one cuts t'others Throat, and the Survivor's hang'd: So there will be two Rivals pretty decently dispos'd of. Since Honour may oblige them to play the Fool, why should not Necessity engage me to play the Knave?

SCENE, Lurewell's Lodgings.

HAS my Servant brought me the Money from my Merchant?

No, Madam, he met Alderman Smuggler at Charing-Cross, who has promis'd to wait on you himself immediatly.

'Tis odd, that this old Rogue shou'd pretend to love me, and at the same time cheat me of my Money.

'Tis well, Madam, if he don't cheat you of your Estate; for you say the Writings are in his hands.

But what satisfaction can I get of him?

Mr. Alderman, your Servant, have you brought me any Money, Sir?

Faith, Madam, trading is very dead; what with paying the Taxes, raising the Customs, Losses at Sea abroad, and maintaining our Wives at home, the Bank is reduc'd very low.

[Page 18]

Come, come, Sir, these Evasions won't serve your turn, I must have Money, Sir,—I hope you don't design to cheat me.

Cheat you, Madam! h [...]ve a care what you say: I'm an Alderman, Madam; cheat you, Madam! I have been an honest Citizen these five and thirty years!

An honest Citizen! bear witness, Parly! I shall trap him in more Lies presently —. Come, Sir, tho I'm a Woman, I can take a course.

What Course, Madam? You'l go to Law, will ye? I can maintain a Suit of Law, be it right or wrong, these forty years, I'm sur [...] of that, thanks to the honest Practice of the Courts.

Sir, I'll blast your Reputation, and so ruin your Credit.

Blast my Reputation! he, he, he: why I'm a Religious Man, Madam, I have been very instrumental in the Reformation of Manners; ruin my Credit! ah, poor Woman: There is but one way, Madam, —you have a sweet leering Eye.

You instrumental in the Reformation! how?

I whipt all the Whores Cut and Long-Tail, out of the Parish—: [...] Ah! that leering Eye! Then I voted for pulling down the Play-house—: Ah that Ogle, that Ogle! — Then my own pious Example—Ah that Lip, that Lip.

Here's a Religious Rogue [...] for you now! — as I hope to be sav'd I have a good mind to beat the old Monster.

Madam, I have brought you about a hundred and fifty Guineas (a great deal of Mony as times go) and —

Come, give it me.

Ah that hand, that hand, that pretty soft, white — I have brought it you see, but the condition of the Obligation is such, that whereas that leering Eye, that pouting Lip, that pretty soft Hand, that—you un­derstand me, you understand I'm sure you do, you little Rogue—

Here's a Villain now, so'covetous that he won't wench upon his own Cost, but would bribe me with my own Mony. I will be reveng'd.—Upon my word Mr. Alderman you make me blush, what d'ye mean, pray?

See here, Madam

Buss and Guinea, buss and Guinea, buss and Guinea.

Well, Mr. Alderman [...] you have such pretty yellow Teeth, and green Gums, that I will, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Will you indeed, he, he, he, my little Cocket; and when, and where, and how?

'Twill be a difficult point, Sir, to secure both our Honours, you must therefore be disguis'd, Mr. Alderman.

P [...]shaw! no matter, I am an old Fornicator, I'm not half so Religi­ous as I seem to be. You little Rogue, why I'm disguis'd as I am, our Sanctity is all outside, all Hypocrisy.

No man is seen to come into this House after Night fall; you must [...]herefore sneak in, when 'tis dark, in Woman's Cloaths.

[Page 19]

I gad so, cod so—I have a Suit a purpose, my little Cocket, I love to be disguis'd, I cod I make a very handsom Woman, I cod I do.

Oh! Mr. Alderman, shall I beg you to walk into next Rome, here are some Strangers coming up.

Buss and Guinea first, ah my little Cocket.

My Life, my Soul, my all that Heaven can give.

Directions! in the most charming manner, thou dear Matchiavel of Intreague.

Still brisk and airy I find, Sir Harny.

The sight of you, Madam, exalts my Air, and makes Joy lighten in my Face.

I have a thousand Questions to ask you, Sir Harry; How d'ye like France?

Ah! est le plus bea [...] pais du monde.

Then what made you leave it so soon?

Madam, Vous Voyez que je vous suy parto [...]t.

O Monsieur, je vouz suis fort obligee—But where's the Court now?

At Marli, Madam.

And where my Count Le Valier?

His Body's in the Church of Nostre Dame, I don't know where his Soul is.

What Disease did he dye of?

A Duel, Madam, I was his Doctor.

How d'ye mean?

As most Doctors do, I kill'd him.

I should ask you that question, Madam, since your Ladyship makes the Beau Monde whereever you come.

Ah! Sir Harry, I've been almost ruin'd, pester'd to death here by the incessant Attacks of a mighty Colonel, he has besieg'd me as close as our Army did Namur.

I hope your Ladyship did not surrender tho.

No, no, but was forc'd to capitulate; but since you are come to raise the Seige, we'll dance, and sing, and laugh.

And love and kiss — Montrez moy votre Chambre.

Attande, Attande, en pe [...] — I remember, Sir Harry, you promis'd me in Paris never to ask that impertinent Question agen.

P'shaw, Madam, that was above two months ago; besides, Madam, Treaties made in France are never kept.

[Page 20]

Wou'd you marry me, Sir Harry.

Oh! Le marriage est une grand male—but I will marry you.

Your Word, Sir, is not to be rely'd on: if a Gentleman will forfeit his Honour in Dealings of Business, we may reasonably suspect his Fidelity in an Amour.

My Honour in Dealings of Business! why, Madam, I never had any business in all my life.

Yes, Sir Harry, I have heard a very odd Story, and am sorry that a Gentleman of your Figure should undergo the Scandal.

Out with it, Madam.

Why the Merchant, Sir, that transmitted your Bills of Exchange to you in France, complains of some indirect and dishonourable Dealings.

Who? old Smuggler!

Ay, ay, you know him I find.

I have no less than reason, I think; why the Rogue has cheated me of above five hundred pound within these three years.

'Tis your business then to acquit your self publickly, for he spreads the Scandal every where.

Acquit my self publickly!—Here Sirrah, my Coach, I'll drive instantly into the City, and cane the old Villain round the Royal Exchange; he shall run the Gauntlet thro a thousand brusht Beavers and formal Cra­vats.

Why he's in the House now, Sir.

What, in this House?

Ay, in the next Room.

Then, Sirrah [...] lend me your Cudgel.

Sir Harry, you won't raise a Disturbance in my House?

Disturbance, Madam, No, no, I'll beat him with the Temper of a Phi­losopher; here, Mrs. Parly, shew me the Gentleman.

Now shall I get the old Monster well beaten, and Sir Harry pester'd next Term with Bloodsheds, Batteries, Costs and Damages, Sollicitors and Attornies; and if they don't teize him out of his good humour, I'll never plot [...]agen.

SCENE, Changes to another Room in the same House.

O This damn'd Tide-waiter! A Ship and Cargo worth five thou­sand pound! why 'tis richly worth five hundred Perjuries.

Dear Mr. Alderman, I'm your most devoted and humble Servant.

My best Friend Sir Harry, you're welcome to England.

I'll assure you Sir, there's not a Man in the King's Dominions I'm gladder to meet.

O Lord, Sir, you Travellers have the most obliging ways with you.

There is a Business Mr. Alderman fall'n out, which you may oblige me infinitely by— I am very sorry that I'm forc'd to be troublesome [...] but necessity, Mr. Alderman.

Ay, Sir, as you say necessity — But upon my word, Sir, I am very short of Mony at present, but —

That's not the matter, Sir, I'm above an Obligation that way, but the Business is, I am reduc'd to an indispensible necessity of being oblig'd to you for a Beating — Here take this Cudgel.

A Beating Sir Harry! ha, ha, ha, I beat a Knight Baronet! an Al­derman turn Cudgel-Player, ha, ha, ha.

Upon my word, Sir, you must beat me, or I cudgel you, take your choice.

P'shaw, p'shaw, you jest.

Nay, 'tis as sure as fate; so Alderman I hope you'll pardon my Curiosity.

Curiosity! Duce take your Curiosity, Sir, what d'ye mean.

Nothing at all, I'm but in jest, Sir.

O, I can take any thing in jest, but a Man might imagine by the smartness of the Stroak, that you were in down right earnest.

Not in the least, Sir,

not in the least indeed Sir.

Pray good Sir, no more of your Jests, for they are the bluntest Jests that I ever knew.

I heartily beg your Pardon with all my Heart, Sir.

Pardon Sir, well Sir, that is satisfaction enough from a Gentleman; but seriously now if you pass any more of your Jests upon me, I shall grow angry.

I humbly beg your permission to break one or two more.

O Lord, Sir, you'll break my Bones: are you mad Sir; Murder, Felony, Manslaughter.

[Page 22]

Sir, I beg you ten thousand Pardons; but I am absolutely compell'd to't upon my Honour, Sir; nothing can be more averse to my Inclinations, than to jest with my honest, dear, loving, obliging Friend, the Alderman.

O dear Madam, I was beaten in jest, 'till I am murder'd in good earnest.

Well, well, I'll bring you off Senior—Frapez, Frapez.

O for Charity's sake, Madam, rescue a poor Citizen.

Madam, I will have amends before I leave the Place, Sir; How durst you use me thus?

Sir?

Sir, I say that I will have satisfaction.

With all my Heart.

O, Murder, Blindness, Fire; O Madam, Madam, get me some Water, Water, Fire, Fire, Water.

SCENE, The Street.

I Bring him word where she lodg'd! I the Civilist Rival in the World! 'tis impossible.

A Mistriss ne're can pall! By all my Wrongs he whores her! and I'm made their Property, Vengeance! Vizard, you must carry a Note from me to Sir Harry.

What! a Challenge! I hope you don't design to fight?

However, Sir, I think it not proper for me to carry any such Message between Friends.

I have ne're a Servant here, what shall I do?

Here, you, Friend [...]

[Page 24]

I have now some Business, and must take my Leave, I wou'd advise you nevertheless against this Affair.

No whispering now, nor telling of Friends to [...]revent us. He that disappoints a Man of an honourable Revenge, may love him foolishly like a Wife, but never value him as a Friend.

Nay the Devil take him that parts you, say I.

Did your Honour call a Porter?

Is your Name Tom Errand?

People call me so, an't like your Worship—

D'ye know Sir Harry Wildair?

Ay, very well Sir, he's one of my Masters; many a round half Crown have I had of his Worship, he's newly come home from France, Sir.

Sir, Sir, Sir, having some Business of Importance to communi­cate to you, I would beg your Attention to a trifling Affair that I wou'd im­part to you.

What is your trifling business of Importance pray sweet Sir?

Pray Sir, are the Roads deep between this and Paris?

Why that Question, Sir?

Because I design to go to the Iubilee, Sir; I understand that you are a Traveller, Sir; there is an Air of Travel in the Tie of you Cravat, Sir [...] there is indeed, Sir—I suppose, Sir, you bought this Lace in Flanders.

No, Sir, this Lace was made in Norway.

Norway, Sir!

Yes Sir, of the shavings of deal Boards.

That's very strange now, Faith—Lace made of the shaving [...] of deal Boards; I Gad Sir, you Travellers see very strange things abroad, very incredible things abroad, indeed. Well, I'll have a Cravat of that very same Lace before I come home.

But Sir? what Preparations have you made for your Journey?

A Case of Pocket-pistols for the Bravo's—and a swimming Girdle.

Why these, Sir?

[Page 25]

O Lord, Sir, I'll tell you — suppose us in Rome now; away goes me I to some Ball—for I'll be a mighty Beau. Then as I said, I g [...] to some Ball, or some Bear-baiting, 'tis all one you know — then comes a fine Italian Bona Roba, and plucks me by the Sleeve, Siegniour Angle, Sieg­niour Angle, — she's a very [...]ine Lady, observe that — Seigniour Angle, shays she, — Siegniora, says I, and trips after her to the cor­ner of a Street, suppose it Russ [...]l [...]Street here, or any other Street; then you know I must invite her to the Tavern, I can do no less. — There up comes her Bravo, the Italian grows sawcy, and I give him an Engl [...]sh douse of the Face. I can Box, Sir, Box tightly, I was a Prentice, Sir,—but then, Sir, he whips out his Stilletto, and I whips out my Bull-Dog—slaps him through, trip [...] down Stairs, turns the corner of Russel-Street again, and whips me into the Ambassador's Train, and there I'm safe as a Beau behind the Scene [...].

Was your Pistol charg'd, Sir?

Only a brace of Bullets, that's all, Sir, I design to shoot seven Italians a Week, Sir.

Sir, you won't have Provocation.

Provocation, Sir! Zauns, Sir, I'll kill any Man for treading up­on my Corn, and there will be a devilish Throng of People there; they say that all the Princes in Italy will be there.

And all the Fops and Fidlers in Europe—but the use of your swim­ming Girdle, pray, Sir?

O Lord, Sir, that's easie. Suppose the Ship cast away; now, whilst other foolish People are busie at their Prayers, I whip on my swim­ming Girdle, claps a Months Provision into my Pockets, and sails me away like an Egg in a Duck's Belly.— And heark'ee, Sir, I have a new Pro­ject in my Head. Where d'ye think my swimming Girdle shall carry me upon this Occasion: 'Tis a new Project?

Where, Sir?

To Civita Vecchia, Faith and Troth, and so save the Charges of my Passage! Well, Sir, you must Pardon me now, I'm going to see my Mistress.

This Fellow's an accomplish'd Ass [...] before he goes abroad. Well! this Angelica has got into my Heart, and I can't get her out of my Head. I must pay her t'other Visit.

SCENE, Lady Darling's House.

Unhappy State of Woman! whose chief Virtue is but Ceremony, and our much boasted Modesty but a slavish Restraint. The strict confine­ment on our Words makes our Thoughts ramble more; and what preserves our outward Fame, destroys our inward Quiet.—'Tis hard that Love shou'd [Page 26] be deny'd the privilege of Hatred; that Scandal and Detraction shou'd so much indulg'd, yet sacred Love and Truth debarr'd our Conversation.

This is my Daughter, Cousin.

Now, Sir, remember your three scrapes.

One, two, three,

your humble Ser­vant. Was not that right, Dicky.

Ay faith, Sir, but why don't you speak to her.

I beg your Pardon, Dicky. I know my distance, wou'd you have me speak to a Lady at the first sight?

Ay, Sir, by all means, the first Aim is the surest.

Now for a good Jest, to make her laugh heartily—By Iupiter Amm [...]n I'll go give her a Kiss.

'Tis all to no purpose, I told you s [...] before, your pitiful Five Guinea's will never do— you may march, Sir, for as far as Five Hundred Pounds will go, I'll out-bid you.

What the Devil! the Mad-man's here again.

Bless me, Cousin! what d'ye mean? Affront a Gentleman of his Quality in my House.

Quality! why, Madam, I don't know what you mean by your Madmen, and your Beaux, and your Quality. —They're all alike I be­lieve.

Pray, Sir, walk with me into the next Room.

Sir, if your Conversation be no more agreeable than 'twas the last time, I wou'd advise you to make it as short as you can.

The O [...]fences of my last Visit, Madam, bore their Punishment in the Commission; and have made me as uneasie 'till I receive Pardon, as your Ladyship can be 'till I sue for it.

Sir Harry I did not well understand the Offence, and must therefore prop [...]rtion it to the greatness of your Apology; if you wou'd therefore have me think it light, take no great Pains in an Excuse.

How sweet must be the Lips that guard that Tongue! Then, Madam, no more of past Offences, let us prepare for Joys to come; let this seal my Pardon.

And this

initiate me to farther Happiness.

Hold, Sir, —one Question, Sir Harry, and pray answer plainly, d'ye love me?

Love you! Does Fire ascend? Do Hypocrites Dissemble? Usurers love Gold, or Great Men Flattery? Doubt these, then question that I Love.

This shows your Gallantry, Sir, but not your Love.

View your own Charms, Madam, then judge my Passion; your Beauty ravishes my Eye, your Voice my Ear, and your Touch has thrill'd my melting Soul.

[Page 27]

If your Words be real, 'tis in your Power to raise an equal Flame in me.

Nay then—I seize—

Hold, Sir, 'tis also possible to make me detest and scorn you worse than the most pros [...]igate of your deceiving Sex.

Ha! A very odd turn this. I hope, Madam, you only affect Anger, because you know your [...]rowns are Becoming.

Sir Harry, you being the best Judge of your own Designs, can best understand whether my Anger shou'd be real or dissembled, think what strict Modesty shou'd bear, then judge of my Resentments.

Strict Modesty shou'd bear! Why faith Madam, I believe the strictest Modesty may bear Fifty Guinea's, and I don't believe 'twill bear one Far­thing more.

What d'mean? Sir.

Nay, Madam, what do you mean? If you go to that, I think now Fifty Guinea's is a very fine offer for your strict Modesty, as you call it.

'Tis more Charitable, Sir Harry, to charge the Impertinence of a Man of your Figure, on his defect in Understanding, than on his want of Manners—I'm afraid you're Mad, Sir.

Why, Madam, you're enough to make any Man mad. S'death, are not you a—

What, Sir?

Why, a Lady of—strict Modesty, if you will have it so.

I shall never hereafter trust common Report, which represented you, Sir, a Man of Honour, Wit, and Breeding; for I find you very de [...]i­cient in them all.

Now I find that the strict Pretences which the Ladies of Plea­sure make to strict Modesty, is the reason why those of Quality are asham'd to wear it.

Ah, Sir Harry, have I caught you? well, and what Success.

Success! 'tis a shame for you young Fellows in Town here, to let the Wenches grow so [...]awcy: I offer'd her Fifty Guinea's, and she was in her Airs presently. I cou'd have had two Countesses in Paris for half the Money, and Ievous rem [...]rcie in to the Bargain.

Gone in her Airs say you? And did not you follow her?

Whither shou'd I follow her?

Into her Bed-Chamber, Man. She went on purpose; you a Man of Gallantry, and not understand that a Lady's best pl [...]as'd when she puts on her Airs, as you call it.

She talk'd to me of strict Modesty, and stuff.

Certainly most Women magnify their Modesty, for the same reason that Cowards boast their Courage, because they have least on [...]t. Come, come, Sir Harry, when you make your next Assault, incourage your Spirits with brisk Burgundy, if you succeed, 'tis well; if not, you have a fair excuse [Page 28] for your Rudeness. I'll go in, and make your Peace for what's past. Oh! I had almost forgot—Coll. Standard wants to speak with you about some Business.

I'll wait upon him presently, d'ye know where he may be found.

In the Piazza of Covent-Garden, about an Hour hence, I promised to see him, and there you may meet him; to have your Throat cut.

I'll go in and intercede for you.

But no foul play with the Lady, Vizard.

No fair play I can assure you.

SCENE, The Street before Lurewell's Lodgings; Clincher Sen. and Lurewell Coqueting in the Balcony.

How weak is Reason in disputes of Love? that daring Reason which so oft pretends to question Works of high Omnipotence, yet poorly truckles to our weakest Passions, and yields implicite Faith to foolish Love, paying blind Zeal to faithless Womans Eyes. I've heard her Falshood with such pressing Proofs, that I no longer shou'd distrust it. Yet still my Love wou'd baffle Demonstration, and make Impossibilities seem probable.

Ha! that Fool too! what! stoop so low as that Animal.— 'Tis true, Wo­men once fall'n, like Cowards in despair, will stick at nothing, there's no Medium in their Actions. They must be bright as Angels, or black as Fiends. But now for my Revenge, I'll kick her Cully before her Face, call her a Whore, curse the whole Sex, and so leave her.

O Lord, Sir, 'tis my Husband: What will become of you?

Eh! Your Husband! Oh, I Shall be murder'd: What shall I do? Where shall I run? I'll creep into an Oven; I'll climb up the Chimney; I'll fly; I'll swi [...];— I wish to the Lord I were at the Iubilee now. —

Can't you think of any thing, Sir?

What do you want, Sir?

Madam, I am looking for Sir Harry Wildair; I saw him come in here this Morning; and did imagine he might be here still.

A lucky Hitt! Here Friend, change Clothes with this Gentleman quickly: Strip.

Ay, ay, quickly strip: I'll give you Half a Crown. Come here: So.

Now slip you,

down stairs, and wait at the Door till my Husband [...]e gone; And get you in there [to the Porter] till I call you.

Oh, Sir! Are you come? I wonder Sir, how you have the Con [...]idence to approach me after so base a Trick.

O Madam, all your Artifices won't prevail.

Nay Sir, Your Artifices won't avail. I thought, Sir, that I gave you Caution enough against troubling me with Sir Harry Wildair's Company when I sent his Letters back by you: Yet you forsooth must tell him where I lodg'd, and expose me again to his impertinent Courtship.

I expose you to his Courtship!

I'll lay my Life you'll deny it now: Come, come, Sir, a pitiful Lye is as scandalous to a Red Coat as an Oath to a Black. Did not Sir Harry himself tell me, that he found out by you where I lodg'd?

You're all Lyes: First, your Heart is false, your Eyes are double; one Look belyes another: And then your Tongue does contradict them all.—Ma'am, I see a little Devil just now hammering out a Lye in your Pericranium.

As I hope for Mercy he's in the right on't.

Hold, Sir, You have got the Play-house Cant upon your Tongue; and think that Wit may privilege your Railing: But I must tell you, Sir, that what is Satyr upon the Stage, is ill Manners here.

What is feign'd upon the Stage, is here in Reality. Real Falshood. Yes, yes, Madam,—I expos'd you to the Courtship of your Fool Clincher too? I hope your Female Wiles will impose that upon me—also—

Clincher! Nay, now, you're stark mad. I know no such Person.

O Woman in Perfection! not know him! S [...]ife, Madam, Can my Eyes, my piercing jealous Eyes be so deluded? Nay, Madam, my Nose could not mistake him; for I smelt the Fop by his Pulvilio from the Balcony down to the Street.

The Balcony! Ha, ha, ha, the Balcony! I'll be hang'd but he has mistaken. Sir Harry Wildair's Footman with a new French Livery, for a Bea [...].

S'Death Madam, what is there in me that looks like a Cully? Did I not see him?

No, no, you cou'd not see him; You're dreaming, Colonel: Will you believe your Eyes, now, that I have rubb'd them open? —Here, you Friend.

This is Illusion all; My Eyes conspire against themselves. 'Tis Legerdemain.

Legerdemain! Is that all your Acknowledgment for your rude Be­haviour?—Oh, what a Curse it is to love as I do!—But don't presume too far, Sir, on my Af [...]ection: For such ungenerous Usage will soon return my tir'd Heart.—Be gone Sir

to your impertinent Master, and tell him I shall never be at leisure to receive any of his troublesome Vi­sits:—send to me to know when I shou'd be at home!—Be gone Sir:—I am sure he has made me an unfortunate Woman.

[Page 30]

Noy, then there is no Certainty in Nature; and Truth is only Falshood well disguis'd.

Sir, had not I own'd my fond foolish Passion, I shou'd not have been subject to such unjust Suspicions; But 'tis an ungrateful Return.

Now where are all my firm Resolves? I will believe her just. My Passion rais'd my Jealousie; then why mayn't Love be blind in finding faults as in excusing them?—I hope, Madam, you'll pardon me, since Jealousie that magnify'd my Suspicion is as much the Effect of Love as my Easiness in being satisfy'd.

Easiness in being satisfy'd! You Men have got an insolent way of extorting Pardon, by persisting in your Faults. No, no, Sir, cherish your Sus­picions, and feed upon your Jealousie: 'Tis fit Meat for your squeamish Sto­mach.

Well, Intriguing is the prettiest pleasantest thing for a Man of my Parts:—How shall we laugh at the Husband when he is gone? —How sillily he looks! He's in labour of Horns already,—to make a Colonel a Cuckold! 'Twill he rare News for the Aldermen.

All this Sir Harry has occasion'd; but he's brave, and will afford me just Revenge: — O! this is the Porter I sent the Challenge by:— Well Sir, have you found him?

What the Devil does he mean now?

Have you given Sir Harry the Note, Fellow?

The Note! What Note?

The Letter, Blockhead, which I sent by you to Sir Harry Wildair, have you seen him?

O Lord, what shall I say now? Seen him! Yes Sir.— No Sir. —I have Sir.—I have not Sir.

The Fellow's mad. Answer me directly Sirrah, or I'll break your Head.

I know Sir Harry very well, Sir; but as to the Note Sir, I can't re­member a Word on't: Truth is, I have a very bad Memory.

O Sir, I'll quicken your Memory.

Zauns, Sir, hold,—I did give him the Note.

And what Answer?

I mean Sir, I did not give him the Note.

What, d'ye banter, Rascal?

Hold Sir, hold, He did send an Answer.

What was't Villain?

Why truly Sir, I have forgot it: I told you that I had a very treacherous Memory.

I'll engage you shall remember me this Month, Rascal.

Fortboon, fortboon, fortboon, This is better than I expected; but For­tune still helps the Industrious.

Ah! The Devil take all Intriguing, say I, and him who first inven­ted Canes:—That curs'd Colonel has got such a Knack of beating his Men, that he has left the Mark of a Collar of Bandileers about my Shoulders.

O my poor Gentleman! And was it beaten?

Yes, I have been beaten: But where's my Cloaths, my Cloaths?

What, you won't leave me so soon, my Dear, will ye?

Will ye? If ever I peep into a Colonel's Tent agen, may I be forc'd to run the Gauntlet:—But my Cloaths, Madam.

I sent the Porter down stairs with them: Did not you meet him?

Meet him! No, not I.

No? He went out of the Back-door, and is run clear away I'm afraid.

Gone, say you? And with my Cloaths? my fine Jubilee Cloaths?— O, the Rogue, the Thief!—I'll have him hang'd for Murder:— But how shall I get home in this Pickle?

I'm afraid, Sir, the Colonel will be back presently; for he dines at home.

Oh, then I must sneak off! Was ever Man so manag'd! to have his Coat well thrash'd, and lose his Coat too?

Thus the Noble Poet spoke Truth.

Methinks Madam, the Injuries you have suffer'd by Men must be very great, to raise such heavy Resentments against the whole Sex.

The greatest Injury that Woman cou'd sustain; They robb'd me of that Jewel, which preserv'd, exalts our Sex almost to Angels: But, destroy'd, debases us below the worst of Brutes, Mankind.

But I think, Madam, you Anger shou'd be only confin'd to the Author of your Wrongs.

The Author! Alas, I know him not, which makes my Wrongs the greater.

Not know him! 'Tis odd Madam, that a Man shou'd rob you of that same Jewel you mention'd, and you not know him.

Leave Trifling;—'tis a Subject that always sowres my Temper; but since by thy faithful Service I have some Reason to conside in your Se­cresie, hear the strange Relation:—Some twelve, twelve Years ago I liv'd at my Father's House in Oxfordshire, blest with Innocence, the ornamental, but weak Guard of blooming Beauty: I was then just Fifteen, an Age oft fatal to the Fe­male Sex; Our Youth is tempting, our Innocence credulous, Romances moving, Love powerful, and Men are — Villains. Then it hapned that three young Gentlemen from the University coming into the Country, and being benigh­ted, and Strangers, call'd at my Father's: He was very glad of their Compa­ny, and offer'd them the Entertainment of his House.

[Page 32]

Which they accepted, no Doubt: Oh! these strouling Collegians are never abroad, but upon some Mischief.

They had some private Frolick or Design in their Heads, as appear'd by their not naming one another, which my Father perceiving, out of Civi­lity, made no enquiry into their Affairs, two of them had a heavy, pedan­tick, University Air, a sort of disagreeable scholastick Boorishness in their Behaviour, but the third!

Ay! the third, Madam,—the third of all things, they say, is very Critical.

He was—but in short, Nature cut him out for my undoing; — he seem'd to be about Eighteen.

A fit Match for your Fifteen as cou'd be.

He had a genteel Sweetness in his Face, a graceful Comeliness in his Person, and his Tongue was fit to sooth soft Innocence to ruine: His very Looks were Witty, and his expressive Eyes spoke softer prettier things than Words cou'd frame.

There will be Mischief by and by; I never heard a Woman talk so much of Eyes, but there were Tears presently after.

His Discourse was directed to my Father, but his Looks to me. Af­ter Supper I went to my Chamber, and read Cassandra, then went to Bed, and dreamt of him all Night, rose in the Morning, and made Verses; so fell desperately in Love—my Father was so pleas'd with his Conversation, that he beg'd their Company next Day; they consented, and next Night, Parly—

Ay, next Night, Madam, —next Night (I'm afraid) was a Night indeed.

He brib'd my Maid with his Gold out of her Honesty, and me with his Rhetorick out of my Honour—she admitted him to my Chamber, and there he vow'd, and swore, and wep't, and sigh'd—and conquer'd.

Alack a day, poor Fifteen!

He swore that he wou'd come down from Oxford in a Fortnight, and marry me.

The old bait! the old bait—I was cheated just so my self

but had not you the Wit to know his Name all this while?

Alas! what Wit had Innocence like mine? he told me that he was under an Obligation to his Companions of concealing himself then, but that he wou'd write to me in two Days, and let me know his Name and Quality. After all the binding Oaths of Constancy, joyning Hands, ex­changing Hearts, I gave him a Ring with this Motto, Love and Honour, then we parted; but I never saw the dear Deceiver more.

No, nor never will, I warrant you.

I need not tell my Griefs, which my Father's Death made a fair Pre­tence for; he left me sole Heiress and Executrix to Three Thousand Pounds a Year; at last my Love for this single Dissembler, turn'd to a hatred of the whole Sex, and resolving to divert my Melancholy, and make my large For­tune subservient to my Pleasure and Revenge, I went to Travel, where in [Page 33] most Courts of Europe I have done some Execution: Here I will play my last Scene; then retire tomy Country-house, live solitary, and die a Peni­tent.

But don't you still love this dear Dissembler?

Most certainly: 'Tis Love of him that keeps my Anger wa [...]m [...] re­presenting the Baseness of M [...]nkind full in View; and makes my Resent­ments work.—We shall have that old impotent Lecher Smugg [...]e [...] here to Night: I have Plot to swinge him and his precise Nephew [...]iz [...]rd.

I think, Madam, you manage every body that comes in your way.

No, Parly, hose Men, wh [...]se Pretensions I found just and honou­rable, I fairly dismist by letting them know my firm Resolutions never to marry. But those Villains that wou'd attempt my Honour, I've seldom fail'd to manage.

What d'ye think of the Colonel, Madam? I suppose his Designs are honourable.

That Man's a Riddle; There's something of Honour in his Tem [...]per that pleases: I'm sure he loves me too, because he's soon jealous, and soon satisfied: But he's a Man still.—When I once try'd his Pulse about Marriage, his Blo [...]d ran as low as a Coward's: He swore indeed that he lov'd me; but cou'd not marry me forsooth; because he was en­gag'd elsewhere. So poor a Pretence made me disdain his Passion, which otherwise might have been uneasie to me.—But, hang him, I have teizd him enough:—Besides, Parly, I begin to be tir'd of my Revenge;—but this Buss and Guinea I must maul once more: I'll hansel his Woman's Cloaths for him. Go, get me Pen and Ink; I must write to Vi­zard too.

SCENE, Covent-Garden.

I Thought, Sir Harry, to have met you 'ere this in a more convenient Place; but since my Wrongs were without Ceremony, my Revenge shall be so too. Draw, Sir.

Draw, Sir! What, shall I draw?

Come, come, Sir, I like your facetious Humour well enough: It shows Courage and Unconcern: I know you brave; and therefore use you thus. Draw your Sword.

Nay, to oblige you I will draw: But the Devil take me if I fight— Perhaps, Colonel, this is the prettiest Blade you have seen.

I doubt not but the Arm is good; and therefore think both worth my Resentment. Come, Sir.

But, prithee Colonel, dost think that I am such a Mad-man as to send my Soul to the Devil, and my Body to the Worms upon every Fool's Errand?

I hope you're no Coward, Sir.

Coward, Sir! I have eight thousand Pounds a Year, Sir.

You fought in Flanders to my Knowledge.

Ay, for the same Reason that I wore a Red Coat: Because 'twas fashionable.

Sir, you fought a French Count in Paris.

True, Sir; he was a Beau, like my self: Now you're a Soldier, Co­lonel, and Fighting's your Trade; And I think it down-right Madness to contend with any Man in his Profession.

Come, Sir, no more Dallying: I shall take very unseemly Methods if you don't show your self a Gentleman.

A Gentleman! Why there agen now. A Gentleman! I tell you once more, Col [...]el, that I am a Baronet, and have eight thousand Pounds a Year. I can dance, sing, ride, fence, understand the Languages. Now, I can't conceive how running you through the Body shou'd contribute one Jot more to my Gentility. But, pray Colonel, I had forgot to ask you: What's the Quarrel?

A Woman, Sir.

Then I put up my Sword. Take her.

Sir, my Honour's concern'd.

[Page 35]

Nay, if your Honour be concern'd with a Woman, get it out of her Hands as soon as you can. An honourable Lover is the greatest Slave in Na­ture; some will say, the greatest Fool. Come, come, Colonel, this is some­thing about the Lady Lurewell, I warrant; I can give you satisfaction in that Affair.

Do so then immediately.

Put up your Sword first: You know I dare fight: But I had much rather make you a Friend than an Enemy. I can assure you this L [...]dy will prove too hard for one of your Temper. You have too much Honour, too much in Conscience, to be a Favourite with the Ladies.

I am assur'd, Sir, she never gave you any Encouragement.—

A Man can never hear Reason with a Sword in his Hand. Sheath your Weapon; and then if I don't satisfie you, sheath it in my Body.

Give me b [...]t Demonstration of her granting you any Favour, and 'tis enough.

Will you take my Word?

Pardon me, Sir, I cannot.

Will you believe your own Eyes?

'Tis ten to one whether I shall or no: They have deceiv'd me al­ready.

That's hard.— But some means I shall devise for your Satisfa­ction.—We must fly this Place; else that Cluster of Mobb will over­whelm us.

O, the Villain, the Rogue, he has murder'd my Husband: Ah, my poor Timothy!

Dem your Timothy;— Your Husband has murder'd me, Woman: For he has carry'd away my sine Jubilee Cloaths.

Ah, you Cut-Throat, have you not got his Cloaths upon your Back there?—Neighbours, don't you know poor Timothy's Coat and Apron?

Ay, ay, 'tis the same.

What shall we do with him, Neighbours?

We'll pull him in pieces.

No, no; then we may be hang'd for Murder; but we'll drown him.

Ah, good People, pray don't drown me; for I never learnt to swi [...] in all my Life. Ah, this plaguy Intriguing!

Away with him, away with him to the Thames.

Oh, if I had but my Swimming Girdle now.

Hold, Neighbours, I command the Peace.

O, Mr. Constable, here's a Rogue that has murder'd my Husband, and robb'd him of his Cloaths.

[Page 36]

Murder and Robbery [...] then he must be a Gentleman. Hands off there, he must not be abus'd.— Give an Account of your self: Are you a Gentleman?

No, Sir, I am a Beau.

Then you have kill'd no body, I'm pe [...]swaded. How came you by these Cloaths, Sir?

You must know, Sir, that walking along, Sir, I don't know how, Sir; I can't tell where, Sir; and — so the Porter and I chang'd Cloaths, Sir.

Very well, the Man speaks Reason, and like a Gentleman.

But pray Mr. Constable, ask him how he chang'd Cloaths with him.

Silence, Woman, and don't disturb the Court.— Well, Sir, how did you change Cloaths?

Why, Sir, he pull'd off my Coat, and I drew off his: so I put on his [...]oat, and he puts on mine.

Why Neighbours, I don't find that he's guilty: Search him; and if he car [...]ies no Arms about him, we'll let him go.

O Gemini! my Jubilee Pistols.

What, a Case of Pistols! Then the Case is plain. Speak, what are you, Sir? whence come you, and whither go you?

Sir, I came from Russel street, and am going to the Jubilee.

You shall go to the Gallows, you Rogue.

Away with him, away with him to Newgate straight.

I shall go to the Jubilee now indeed.

In short, Colonel, 'tis all Nonsence: Fight for a Woman! Hard by [...] the Lady's House; if you please, we'll wait on her together: You shall draw your Sword, I'll draw my Snush-Box: You shall produce your Wounds receiv'd in War; I'll relate mine by Cupid's Dart:— You shall look big; I'll ogle: — You shall swear; I'll sigh:— You shall sa, sa, and I'll coupee; And if she flies not to my Arms, like a Hawk to its Pearch, my Dancing Ma­s [...]er dese [...]ves to be damn'd.

With the generality of Women, I grant you, these Arts may prevail.

Generality of Women! Why there agen you're out. They're all alike, Sir: I never heard of any one that was particular, but one.

Who was she, pray?

Penelope, I think she's call'd; and that's a Poetical Story too. When will you find a Poet in our Age make a Woman so chaste?

Well, Sir Harry, your facetious Humour can disguise Falshood, and make Calumny pass for Satyr: But you have promis'd me ocular Demonstra­tion that she favours you: make that good, and I shall then maintain Faith and Fem [...]le to be as inconsistent as Truth and Falshood.

[Page 37]

Nay, by what you ha [...]e told me, I am satisfied that she imposes on us all; And Vizard too seems what I still suspected him: but his Honesty once mis [...]d, spoils his Knave [...]y: — But will you be convinc'd if our P [...]ot succeeds;

I rely on your Word and Honour, Sir Harry; which, if I doubted, my Distrust wou'd cancel the Obligation of their Security.

Then meet me half an hour hence at the Rumm [...]r: You must oblige me by taking a hearty Glass with me toward the fitting me out for a certain Project which this Night I undertake.

I guess by the P [...]eparation, that Woman's the Design.

Yes, faith, — I am taken dangerously ill with two foolish Maladies, Modesty and Love; the first I'll cure with Burgundy, and my Love by a N [...]ght's Lodging with the Damsel. A sure Remedy. Probatum est.

I'll certainly m [...]et you, Sir.

Ah! Dicky, this London is a sad Place, a sad vicious Place: I wish that I were in the Country agen: And this Brother of mine! I'm sorry he's so great a Rake: I had rather see him dead than see him thus.

Ay, Sir, He'll spend his whole Estate at this same Jubilee. Who, d'ye think lives at this same Jubilee?

Who pray?

The Pope.

The Devil he does! my Brother go to the Place where the Pope dwells! he's bewitch'd sure.

Indeed I believe he is, for he's strangely attir'd.

Alter'd! why he looks like a Jesuit already.

This Lace will sell. What a Blockhead was the Fellow to trust me with his Coat! If I can get cross the Garden, down to the Water-side, I'm pretty secure.

Brother! — Alaw! O Gemini? are you my Brother?

I seize you in the King's Name, Sir.

O Lord, shou'd this prove some Parliament Man now!

Speak you Rogue, what are you.

A poor Porter, Sir, and going of an Errand.

What Errand? speak you Rogue.

A Fools Errand, I'm afraid.

Who sent you?

A Beau, Sir.

No, no, the Rogue has murder'd your Brother, and stript him of his Cloaths.

[Page 38]

Murther'd my Brother! O Crimini! O my poor Jubilee Brother! — stay, by Iupiter Ammon, I'm Heir: Tho' speak Sirrah, Have you kill'd him? Confess that you have kill'd him, and I'll give you Half a Crown.

Who I, Sir? alack-a-day, Sir, I never kill'd any Man, but a Carrier's Horse once.

Then you shall certainly be Hang'd, but confess that you kill'd him, and we'll let you go.

Telling the Truth hangs a Man, but confessing a Lye can do no harm, besides, if the worst comes to the worst, I can but deny it agen — Well, Sir, since I must tell you, I did kill him.

Here's your Money, Sir,— but are you sure you kill'd him dead.

Sir, I'll swear it before any Judge in England.

But are you sure that he's Dead in Law.

Dead in Law! I can't tell whether he be Dead in Law. But he's as dead as a Door Nail; for I gave him seven knocks on the Head with a Hammer.

Then you have the Estate by the Statute. Any Man that's knock'd o'th' Head is Dead in Law.

But are you sure he was Compos Men [...]is when he was kill'd?

I suppose he was, Sir, for he told me nothing to the contrary after­wards.

Hey!— then I go to the Iubilee — Strip, Sir, strip. By Iupiter Ammon strip.

Ah! don't swear, Sir.

Swear, Sir, Zoons, han't I got the Estate, Sir? Come, Sir, now I'm in Mourning for my Brother.

I hope you'll let me go now, Sir.—

Yes, yes, Sir, but you must first do me the Favour, to swear posi­tively before a Magistrate, that you kill'd him dead, that I may enter upon the Estate without any Trouble. By Iupiter Ammon all my Religion's gone, since I put on these fine Cloaths— Hey, call me a Coach somebody.

Ay, Master let me go, and I'll call one immediately.

No, no, Dicky, carry this Spark before a Justice, and when he has made Oath, you may discharge him. And I'll go see Angelica.

Now that I'm an Elder Brother. I'll Court, and Swear, and Rant, and Rake, and go to the Iubilee with the best of them.

SCENE, Lurewell's House.

Are you sure that Vizzard had my Letter.

Yes, yes, Madam, one of your Ladyships Footmen gave it to him in the Park, and he told the Bearer, with all transports of Joy, that he wou'd be punctual to a Minute.

Thus most Villains, some time or other, are punctual to their Ruine; and Hypocrisie, by imposing on the World, at last deceives it self. Are all things prepar'd for his Reception.

Exactly to your Ladyships Order, the Alderman too is just come, dress'd and cook'd up for Iniquity.

Then he has got Woman's Cloaths on.

Yes, Madam, and has pass'd upon the Family for your Nurse.

Convey him into that Closet, and put out the Candles, and tell him, I'll wait on him presently.

This must be some Clown without Manners, or a Gentleman above Ceremony. Who's there?

Sings.

'Tis too early for Serenading, Sir Harry.

[Page 40]

Wheresoever Love is, there Musick is proper, there's an harmoni­ous consent in their Natures, and when [...]ightly joyn'd, they make up the Chorus of Earthly Happiness.

But, Sir Harry, what Tempest drives you here at this Hour.

No Tempest, Madam, but as fair Weather as ever entic'd a Citizens Wife t [...] Cuckold her Husband in fresh Air.

Love, Madam.

A [...] p [...]re and white as Angels soft desires, is't not so?

Fi [...]ce, as when ripe consenting Beauty F [...]es.

O Villain! what Privilege has Man to our Destruction, that thus they hunt our Ruine?

If this be a Love Token,

your Mistresses Favours hang very loose about you, Sir.

I can't justly, Madam, pay your Trouble of taking it up by any thing, but desiring you to wear it.

You Gentlemen have the cunningest ways of playing the Fool, and are so industrious in your Profuseness. Speak seriously, am I beholding to Chance or Design for this Ring?

To design upon my Honour, and I hope my Design will succeed.

And what shall I give you for such a fine thing.

You'll give me another, you'll give me another fine thing.

Shall I be free with you, Sir Harry.

With all my Heart, Madam, so I may be free with you.

Then plainly, Sir, I shall beg the favour to see you some other time, for at this very Minute I have two Lovers in the House.

Then to be as plain, I must be gone this Minute, for I must see ano­ther Mistress within these two Hours.

Frank and free.

As you with me—Madam, your most humble Servant.

Nothing can disturb his Humour. Now for my Merchant and Vizard.

This way, Mr. Alderman.

Well, Mrs. Parly,—I'm oblig'd to you for this Trouble, here are a couple of Shillings for you. Times are hard, very hard indeed, but next time I'll steal a pair of silk Stockings from my Wife, and bring them to you — What are you fumbling about my Pockets for—?

Only settling the Plates of your Gown, here, Sir, get into this Clo­set, and my Lady will wait on you presently.

Where wou'd'st thou lead me, my dear auspicious little Pilot?

You're almost in Port, Sir, my Lady's in the Closet, and will come out to you immediately.

[Page 41]

Let me thank thee as I ought.

Pshaw! who has hir'd me best? a couple of Shillings, and a couple of Kisses.

Propitious Darkness guides the Lovers Steps, and Night that shadows outward Sense, lights up our inward Joy. Night! the great awful Ruler of Mankind, which, like the Persian Monarch hides its Royalty to raise the Ve­neration of the World. Under thy easie Reign Dissemblers may speak Truth; all slavish Forms and Ceremonies laid aside, and generous Villainy may act without Constraint.

Bless me! what Voice is this?

Our hungry Appetites, like the wild Beasts of Prey, now scour abroad, to gorge their craving Maws, the pleasure of Hypocrisie, like a chain'd Lyon, once broke loose, wildly indulges its new Freedom, ranging through all unbounded Joys.

My Nephew's Voice! and certainly possess'd with an Evil Spirit, he talks as prophanely, as an Actor possess'd with a Poet.

Ha! I hear a Voice, Madam, — my Life, my Happiness, where are you, Madam?

Madam! he takes me for a Woman too, I'll try him. Where have you left your Sanctity, Mr. Vizard?

Talk no more of that ungrateful Subject — I left it where it has only business with Day-light, 'tis needless to wear a Mask in the Dark.

O the Rogue, the Rogue! — The World takes you for a very sober virtuous Gentleman.

Ay, Madam, that adds Security to all my Pleasures — with me a Cully-Squire may squander his Estate, and ne'er be thought a Spend-thrift — With me a Holy Elder may zealously be drunk, and toast his tuneful Nose in Sack, to make it hold forth clearer— But what is most my Praise, the formal Rigid she that rails at Vice and Men, with me sec [...]res her loosest Plea­sures, and her strictest Honour— she who with scornful Mien, and virtu­ous Pride, disdains the Name of Whore, with me can Wanton, and laugh at the deluded World.

How have I been deceiv'd! then you are very great among the Ladies.

Yes, Madam, they know that like a Mole in the Earth, I dig deep but invisible, not like those fluttering noisie Sinners, whose Pleasure is th [...] proclamation of their Faults, those empty Flashes who no sooner kindle, but they must blaze to alarm the World. But come, Madam, you delay our Pleasures.

He surely takes me for the Lady Lurewell— she has made him an Appointment too— but I'll be reveng'd of both — Well, Sir, what are these you are so intimate with.

[Page 42]

Come, come, Madam, you know very well— those who stand so high, that the vulgar envy even their Crimes, whose Figure adds privi­lege to their Sin, and makes it pass unquestion'd; fair, high, pamper'd Fe­males, whose speaking Eyes, and piercing Voice, wou'd warm the Statue of a Stoick, and animate his cold Marble with the Soul of an Epicure, all ra­vishing, lovely, soft, and kind, like you.

I am very lovely and soft indeed, you shall find me much harder than you imagine, Friend — Well, Sir, but I suppose your Dissimulation has some other Motive besides Pleasure.

Yes, Madam, the honestest Motive in the World, Interest—you must know, Madam, that I have an old Uncle, Alderman Smuggler, you have seen him, I suppose.

Yes, yes, I have some small Acquaintance with him.

'Tis the most knavish, precise, covetous old Rogue, that ever died of a Gout.

Ah! the young Son of a Whore. Well, Sir, and what of him?

Hell hungers not more for wretched Souls, than he for ill-got Pelf— and yet (what's wonderful) he that wou'd stick at no profitable Villainy himself, loves Holiness in another—he prays all Sunday for the Sins of the Week past— he spends all Dinner-time in too tedious Graces, and what he designs a Blessing to the Meat, proves a Curse to his Family—he's the most—

Well, well, Sir, I know him very well.

Then, Madam, he has a swinging Estate, which I design to Pur­chase as a Saint, and spend like a Gentleman. He got it by Cheating, and shou'd lose it by Deceit. By the pretence of my Zeal and Sobriety, I'll cozen the old Miser one of these Days out of a Settlement, and Deed of Conveyance—

It shall be a Deed to convey you to the Gallows then, you young Dog.

And no sooner he's Dead, but I'll rattle over his Grave with a Coach and Six, to inform his covetous Ghost how genteelly I spend his Money.

I'll prevent you, Boy, for I'll have my Money bury'd with me.

Bless me, Madam, here's a Light coming this way, I must fly im­mediately, when shall I see you, Madam.

Sooner than you expect, my Dear.

Pardon me, dear Madam, I wou'd not be seen for the World. I wou'd sooner forfeit my Life, nay, my Pleasure, than my Reputat [...]on.

Reputation! Reputation! that poor Word suffers a great deal— Well! thou art the most accomplish'd Hypocrite that ever made a grave plodding Face over a Dish of Coffee, and a Pipe of Tobacco; he owes me [Page 43] for seven Years maintenance, and shall pay me by seven Years Imprisonment; and when I die, I'll leave him the Fee-Simple of a Rope and a Shilling—who are these? I begin to be afraid o [...] some Mischief— I wish that I were safe within the City Liberties — I'll hide my [...]

I say there are Two Spoons wanting, and I'll search the whole House — Two Spoons will be no small gap in my Quarter's Wages—

When did you miss them, Iames?

Miss them. Why, I miss them now; in short they must be a [...]ong you, and if you don't return them, I'll go to the Cunning-Man to Mor­row-Morning; my Spoons I want, and my Spoons I will have.

Hark'ee, good Woman, what makes you hide your self? What are you asham'd of.

Asham'd of! O Lord, Sir, I'm an honest Old Woman that never was asham'd of any thing.

What are you, a Midwife then? Speak, did not you see a couple of stray Spoons in your Travels?

St [...]ay Spoons!

Ay, ay, stray Spoons; in short you stole them, and I'll shake your old Limbs to pieces, if you don't deliver them presently.

Bless me! a Reverend Elder of Seventy Years old accus'd for Petty-Lacenary!—why, search me, good People, search me, and if you find any Spoons about me, you shall burn me for a Witch.

Ay, ay, we will search you Mistress.

Oh! the Devil, the Devil!

Where, where is he? Lord bless us, she is a Witch in good earnest, may be.

O, it was some Devil, some Covent-Garden, or St. Iames's Devil, that put them in my Pocket.

Ay, ay, you shall be hang'd for a Thief, burnt for a Witch, and then carted for a Bawd. Speak, what are you?

I'm the Lady Lurewell's Nurse.

What Noise is this?

[Page 44]

Here is an old Succubus, Madam, that has stole two silver Spoons, and says, she's your Nurse.

My Nurse! O the Impudent old Jade, I never saw the wither'd Creature before.

Then I'm finely caught. O Madam! Madam don't you know me? Don't you remember Buss and Guinea?

Was ever such Impudence? I know thee! why thou'rt as Brazen as a Bawd in the Side-Box— Take her before a Justice, and then to Newgate, away.

O! consider, Madam, that I'm an Alderman.

Consider, Sir, that you're a Compound of Covetousness, Hypo­crisy, and Knavery; and must be punish'd accordingly— You must be in Petticoats, Gouty Monster, must ye! You must Buss and Guinea too, you must tempt a Ladies Honour, old Satyr, away with him.

SCENE, Lady Darling's House.

DAughter, since you have to deal with a Man of so peculiar a Temper, you must not think the general Arts of Love can se­cure him; you may therefore allow such a Courtier some Incouragement extraordinary, without reproach to your Modesty.

I am sensible, Madam, that a formal Nicety makes our Modesty sit awkard, and appears rather a Chain to Enslave, than Bracelet to Adorn us — it shou'd show, when unmolested, easie and innocent as a Dove, but strong and vigorous as a Faulcon, when assaulted.

I'm afraid, Daughter, you mistake Sir Harry's Gaiety for Dishonour.

Tho' Modesty, Madam, may Wink, it must not Sleep, when pow­erful Enemies are abroad— I must confess, that of all Mens, I wou'd not see Sir Harry Wildair's Faults; nay, I cou'd wrest most suspicious Words a thousand ways, to make them look like Honour—but, Madam, in spight of Love I must hate him, and curse those Practices which taint our Nobility, and rob all virtuous Women of the bravest Men —

You must certainly be mistaken, Angelica, for I'm satisfy'd Sir Harry's designs are only to court, and marry you.

His pretence, perhaps, was such, but Women now, like Enemies, are attack'd; whether by Treachery, or fairly Conquer'd, the Glory of Triumph is the same—pray, Madam, by what means were you made ac­quainted with his Designs?

Means, Child! why my Cousin Vizard, who, I'm sure is your sin­cere Friend, sent him. He brought me this Letter from my Cousin—

Ha! Vizard! then I'm abus'd in earnest—wou'd Sir Harry, by his Instigation, fix a base Affront upon me? no, I can't suspect him of so un­genteel a Crime — this Letter shall trace the Truth —

my Su­spicions, Madam, are much clear'd, and I hope to satisfy your Ladyship in my Management, when next I see Sir Harry.

Madam, here's a Gentleman below calls himself Wildair.

Conduct him up. Daughter, I wont doubt your Discretion.

O, the Delights of Love and Burgundy —! Madam, I have toasted your Ladyship fifteen Bumpers successively, and swallow'd Cupids like Loches, to every Glass.

And what then, Sir?

Why then, Madam, the Wine has got into my Head; and the Cu­pids into my Heart: and unless [...]y quenching quick my Flame, you kindly ease the Smart, I'm a lost Man, Madam.

Drunkenness, Sir Harry, is the worst Pretence a Gentleman can make for Rudeness: For the Excuse is as scandalous as the Fault:— Therefore pray consider who you are so free with, Sir; a Woman of Condition, that can call half a dozen Footmen upon Occasion.

Nay, Madam, if you have a mind to toss me in a Blanket, half a dozen Chamber-maids would do better Service.—Come, come, Madam, tho' the Wine makes me lisp, yet has it taught me to speak plainer. By all the Dust of my ancient Progenitors I must this Night quarter my Coat of Arms with yours.

Nay, then Burgundy's the Word, and Slaughter will ensue. Hold,— do you know, Scoundrils, that I have been drinking victorious Burgundy?

We know you're drunk, Sir.

Then how have you the Impudence, Rascals, to assault a Gentleman with a couple of Flasks of Courage in his Head?

Sir, we must do as our young Mistriss commands us.

Nay, then, have among ye, Dogs.

Rascals, Poultrons, — I have charm'd the Dragon, and now the Fruit's my own.

O, the mercenary Wretches! This was a Plot to betray me.

I have put the whole Army to flight: And, now take the General Prisoner.

I conjure you, Sir, by the sacred Name of Honour, by your dead Father's Name, and the fair Reputation of your Mother's Chastity, that you offer not the least Offence.—Already you have wrong'd me past Redress.

Thou art the most unaccountable Creature.

What Madness, Sir Harry, what wild Dream of loose Desire cou'd prompt you to attempt this Baseness? View me well. — The Brightness of my Mind, methinks, shou'd lighten outwards, and let you see your Mistake in my Behaviour. I think it shines with so much Innocence in my Face, that it shou'd dazzle all your vicious Thoughts: Think not I am defenceless' cause alone. Your very self is Guard against your self [...] I'm sure there's something [Page 47] generous in your Soul; My Words shall search it out, and Eyes shall sire it [...] for my own Defence.

Ha! Her Voice bears a commanding Accent! Every Syllable is pointed. — By Heavens I love her:— I feel her piercing Words turn the wild Current of my Blood; and thrill through all my Veins.

View me well: consider me with a sober Thought, free from those Fumes of Wine that cast a Mist before your Sight; and you shall find that every Glance from my reproaching Eye is arm'd with sharp Resentment, and with repelling Rays that look Dishonour dead.

I cannot view you, Madam: For when you speak, all the Faculties of my charm'd Soul crowd to my attentive Ears; desert my Eyes, which gaze insensibly. — Whatever Charm inspires your Looks, whether of In­nocence or Vice, 'tis lovely, past Expression.

If my Beauty has power to raise a Flame, be sure it is a vertuous one: if otherwise, 'tis owing to the Foulness of your own Thought, which throwing this mean Affront upon my Honour, has alarm'd my Soul, and [...]ires it with a brave Disdain.

Where can the Difference lie 'twixt such Hypocrisie and Truth [...] Madam, whate'er my unruly Passion did at first suggest; I now must own you've turn'd my Love to Veneration, and my unmannerly Demands to a most humble Prayer.— Your surprizing Conduct has quench'd the gross material Flame; but rais'd a subtil piercing Fire, which flies like lamben [...] Lightning, through my Blood, disdaining common Fuel, preys upon the no­bler Part, my Soul.

Grants, Heav'ns, his Words be true!

Then, as you hope that Pas­sion shou'd be happy, tell me without Reserve, what Motives have engag'd you thus to affront my Virtue?

Affront her Vertue! Ah, something I fear.—Your Question, Madam is a Riddle, and cannot be resolv'd; but the most proper Answer the old Gentlewoman can make, who passes for your Mother.

Passes for my Mother! O Indignation! Were I a Man, you durst not use me thus: — But the mean poor Abuse you cast on me, reflects up­on your self: Our Sex still strikes an Awe upon the Brave, and only Cowards dare affront a Woman.

Then, Madam, I have a fair Claim to Courage; for, by all Hopes of Happiness, I ne'er was aw'd so much, nor ever felt the Power of Fear be­fore:—But since I can't dissolve this Knot, —I'll cut it at a Stroak.

(who, I fear is a Villain) to'd me you were a Prostitute; that he had known you, and sent a Letter, intim [...]ting, my Designs to the old Gentle­woman, who, I suppos'd had licens'd my Proceedings by leaving us so oft in private.

That Vizard is a Villain, damn'd beyond the Curses of an injur'd Wo­man, is most true; But, that his Letter signified any dishonourable Proceedings, is as fa [...]se.

I appeal to that for Pardon or Condemnation: He read it to me [...] and the Contents were as I have declar'd, only with this Addition; That I wou'd scruple no price for the Enjoyment of my Pleasure.

[Page 48]

No price! What have I suffer'd? to be made a Prostitute for Sale! —'Tis an unequall'd Cu [...]se upon our Sex, That Woman's Vertue shou'd so much depend on lying Fame, and scandalous Tongues of Men.—Read that: Then judge how far I'm injur'd, and you deceiv'd.

Now, Sir,—I hope you need no Instigation to redress my Wrongs, since Honour points the Way.

Redress your Wrongs! Instruct me, Madam: for all your Injuries ten-fold recoil'd on me. I have abus'd Innocence, murder'd Honour, stabb'd it in the nicest part: A fair Lady's Fame.—Instruct me, Madam: For my Reason's sled, and hides its guilty Face, as conscious of its Master's Shame.

Think, Sir, that my Blood, for many Generations, has run in the pu­rest Channel of unsully'd Honour.

Consider what a tender Flower is Woman's Reputation, which, the least Air of foul Detraction blasts.—Call then to mind your rude and scandalous Behaviour:—Remember the base Price you offer'd: —then think that Vizard, Villain Vizard, caus'd all this, yet lives. That's all.— Farewel.

Stay, Madam; he's too base an Offering for such Purity: But Ju­stice has inspir'd me with a nobler Thought. —I throw a purer Victim at your Feet, my honourable Love and Fortune: If chastest, purest Passion, with a large and fair Estate, can make amends, they're yours this Moment. —The matrimonial Tye shall bind us Friends this Hour.—Nay, Madam, no Reply, unless you smile.—Let but a pleasing Look fore-run my Sentence: then raise me up to Joy.

Rise, Sir,

I'm pleas'd to find my Sentiments of you, which were always Generous, so generously answer'd: And since I have met a Man a­bove the common Level of your Sex, I think my self disengag'd from the For­mality of mine, and shall therefore venture to inform you, that with Joy I receive your honourable Love.

[Page 49]

Beauty without Art! Vertue without Pride! and Love without Ce­remony! The Day breaks glorious to my o'erclouded Thought, and darts its sm [...]ling Beams into my Soul. My Love is heighten'd by a glad Devotion; and Vertue ra [...]ifies the Bliss to feast the purer Mind.

You must promise me, Sir Harry; to have a [...]are of Burgundy hence­forth.

Fear not, sweet Innocence; Your Presence, like a Guardian Angel [...] shall fright away all Vice.

SCENE Newgate, Clincher senior solus.

How severe and melancholy are Newgate Re [...]lections? Last Week my Father died: Yesterday I turn'd Beau: To day I am laid by the heels, and to morrow shall be hung by the Neck.—I was agreeing with a Book-seller about Printing an Account of my Journey through France to Italy; But now, the History of my Travels thro' Holborn to Tyburn,—The last and dying Speech of Beau Clincher, that was going to the Iubilee.—Come, a Half-peny a­piece. A sad Sound, a sad Sound, faith. 'Tis one Way to have a Man's Death make a great Noise in the World.

Well, Friend, I have told you who I am: so send these Letters into Thames-street, as directed; they are to Gentlemen that will bail me.

Eh!— this Newgate is a very populous Place: Here's Robbery and Re­pentance in every Corner.—Well, Friend, what are you, a Cut-throat or a Bum-Bayliff?

What are you, Mistriss, a Bawd or a Witch? Hearkee, if you are a Witch, d'ye see, I'll give you a hundred Pounds to mount me on a Broom-staff, and whip me away to the Jubilee.

The Jubilee! O, you young Rake-hell, what brought you here?

Ah, you old Rogue, what brought you here, if you go to that?

I knew, Sir, what your Powdering, your Prinking, your Dancing and your Frisking wou'd come to.

And I knew what your Cozening, your Extortion, and your Smug­ling wou'd come to.

Ay, Sir, you must break your Indentures, and run to the Devil in a full Bottom Wig, must you?

Ay Sir, and you must put off your Gravity, and run to the Devil in Petticoats: —You design to swing in Masquerade, Master, d [...]ye?

Ay, you must go to Plays too, Sirrah: Lord, Lord! What Business has a Prentice at a Play-house, unless it be to hear his Master made a Cuc­kold, and his Mistriss a Whore? 'Tis ten to one now, but some malicious [Page 50] Poet has my Character upon the Stage within this Month: 'Tis a hard mat­ter now, that an honest sober Man can't sin in private for this plaguy Stage. I gave an honest Gentleman five Guineas my self towards writing a Book a­gainst it: And it has done no good, we see.

Well, well, Master, take Courage; our Comfort is, we have liv'd to­gether, and shall die together, only with this difference, that I have liv'd like a Fool, and shall die like a Knave; and you have liv'd like a Knave, and shall die like a Fool.

No, Sirrah! I have sent a Messenger for my Cloaths, and shall get out immediately, and shall be upon your Jury by and by.—Go to Prayers, you Rogue, go to Prayers.

Prayers! 'Tis a hard taking, when a Man must, say Grace to the Gallows.— Ah, this cursed Intriguing! Had I swung handsomely in a silken Garter now, I had died in my Duty; but to hang in Hemp, like the Vulgar, 'tis very ungenteel.

A Reprieve, a Reprieve, thou dear, dear —damn'd Rogue, where have you been? Thou art the most welcome —Son of a Whore, where's my Cloaths?

Sir, I see where mine are: Come, Sir, strip, Sir, strip.

What, Sir, will you abuse a Gentleman?

A Gentleman! ha, ha, ha, d'ye know where you are, Sir? Were all Gentlemen here, —I stand up for Liberty and Property. — Newgate's a Common-wealth. No Courtier has Business among us; Come, Sir.

Well, but stay, stay till I send for my own Clo [...]ths: I shall get out presently.

No, no, Sir, I'll ha you into the Dungeon, and uncase you.

Sir, you can't master me; for I'm twenty thousand strong.

The SCENE changes to Lady Darling's House.

Here, [...]ly all around, and bear these as directed; you to Westminster,— you to St. Iames's,—and you into the City.—Tell all my Friends a B [...]idegroom's Joy invites their Presence: Look all of ye like Bridegrooms al­so: All appear with hospitable Looks, and bear a Welcome in your Faces.— Tell 'em I'm married. If any ask to whom, make no Reply; but tell 'em that I'm married, that Joy shall crown the Day, and Love the Night. Be gone, fly.

A thousand Welcomes, Friend: my Pleasure's now compleat, since I can share it with my Friend: Brisk Joy shall bound from me to you: Then back agen; and, like the Sun, grow warmer by Reflexion.

You're always pleasant, Sir Harry; but this transcends your self; whence proceeds it?

[Page 51]

Canst thou not guess? my Friend —whence flows all Earhtly Joy? What is the Life of Man, and Soul of Pleasure?— Woman: — What fires the Heart with Transport, and the Soul with Raptures? Lovely Woman.— What is the Master Stroak and Smile of the Creation, but Charming Vertuous Woman?—When Nature in the general Composition first brought Woman forth, like a flush'd Poet, ravish'd with his Fancy, with Extasie: The blest, the fair Production.—Methinks, my Friend, you relish not my Joy. What is the Cause?

Canst thou not guess? —What is the Bane of Man, and Scourge of Life, but Woman? —What is the Heathenish Idol Man sets up, and is damn'd for worshipping? Treacherous Woman:—What are those Eyes, like Basiliksks, shine beautiful for sure Destruction, whose Smiles are dangerous as the Grin of Fiends? But false deluding Woman. —Woman whose Composition inverts Humanity; their Body's Heavenly, but their Souls are Clay.

Come, come, Colonel, this is too much: I know your Wrongs re­ceiv'd from Lurewell, may excuse your Resentments against her: But 'tis un­pardonable to charge the Failings of a single Woman upon the whole Sex.— I have found one, whose Vertues—

So have I, Sir Harry; I have found one whose Pride's above yield­ing to a Prince: And if Lying, Dissembling, Perjury and Falshood be no Breaches in Woman's Honour, she's as innocent as Infancy.

Well, Colonel, I find your Opinion grows stronger by Opposition, I shall now therefore wave the Argument, and only beg you for this Day to make a Show of Complaisance at least.—Here comes my Charming Bride.—

I wish you, Madam, all the Joys of Love and For­tune.

Gentlemen and Ladies, I'm just upon the Spur, and have only a Mi­nute to take my Leave.

Whither are you bound, Sir?

Bound, Sir! I'm going to the Iubilee, Sir.

Bless me, Cousin! how came you by these Cloaths?

Cloaths! Ha, ha, ha, the rarest Jest! Ha, ha, ha, I shall burst, by Iupiter Ammon, I shall burst.

What's the Matter, Cousin?

The matter! Ha, ha, ha: why an honest Porter, ha, ha, ha, has knock'd out my Brother's Brains, ha, ha, ha.

A very good Jest, i'faith, ha ha, ha.

Ay Sir, but the best Jest of all is, he knock'd out his Brains with a Hammer, and so he is as dead as a Door-nail, ha, ha, ha.

And do you laugh, Wretch?

[Page 52]

Laugh! ha, ha, ha, Let me see e'er a younger Brother in England that won't laugh at such a Jest.

You appear'd a very sober pious Gentleman some Hours ago.

Pshaw, I was a Fool then: but now, Madam [...] I'm a Wit: I can rake now.— As for your part, Madam, you might have had me once: — But now, Ma'am, if you shou'd chance f [...]ll to eating Chalk, or gnawing the Sheets, 'tis none of my Fault—Now, Madam, —I have got an Estate, and I must go to the Iubilee.

Must you so, Rogue, must ye? —you will go to the Iubilee, will you?

A Ghost, a Ghost!—Send for the Dean and Chapter pre­sently.

A Ghost! no, no, Sirrah, I'm an Elder Brother; Rogue.

I don't care a Farthing for that; I'm sure you're Dead in Law.

Why so, Sirrah, why so?

Because, Sir, I can get a Fellow to swear he knock'd out your Brains.

An odd way of swearing a Man out of his Life.

Smell him, Gentlemen, he has a deadly Scent about him—

Truly the apprehensions of Death may have made me savour a little—O Lord —the Colonel! the apprehension of him may make me savour worse, I'm afraid.

In short, Sir, were you Ghost, or Brother, or Devil, I will go to the Iubilee, by Iupiter Ammon.

Go to the Iubilee! go to the Bear-Garden — the Travel of such Fools as you, doubly injure our Country, you expose our Native Follies, which ridicules us among Strangers, and return fraught only with their Vices, which you vend here for fashionable Gallantry; a Travelling Fool is as dangerous as a Home-bred Villain — Get ye to your Native Plough and Cart, converse with Animals, like your selves, Sheep and Oxen, Men are Creatures you don't understand.

Let 'em alone, Colonel, their Folly will be now diverting. Come, Gentlemen, we'll dispute this Point some other time, I hear some Fiddles tuning; let's hear how they can entertain us: Be pleas'd to sit.

Madam, shall I beg you to entertain the Company in the next Room for a Moment.

With all my Heart—Come, Gentlemen.

A Lady to enquire for me! Who can this be?

O, Madam, this Favour is beyond my Expectation, to come uninvited to dance at my Wedding—What d'ye gaze at, Madam?

A Monster— if thou art marry'd, thou'rt the most perjur'd Wretch that e're avouch'd Deceit.

Hey day! why, Madam, I'm sure I never swore to marry you, I made indeed a slight Promise, upon condition of your granting me a small Favour, but you would not consent, you know.

How he upbraids me with my Shame—can you deny your bind­ing Vows when this appears a Witness 'gainst your Falsho [...]d

Methinks the Motto of this sacred Pledge shou'd flash Confusion in your guilty Face— read, read here the binding Words of Love and Honour, Words not unknown to your perfidious Eyes.—tho' utter Strangers to your treacherous Heart.

The Woman's stark staring Mad, that's certain.

Was it maliciously design'd to let me find my Misery when past re­dress; to let me know you, only to know you false— had not curs'd Chance show'd me the surprizing Motto, I had been happy — The first Knowledge I had of you was fatal to me, and this second worse.

What the Devil's all this! —Madam, I'm not at leisure for Rallery at present, I have weighty Affairs upon my hands; the business of Pleasure, M [...]a [...], any other time—

Stay, I conjure you stay.

Faith I can't, my Bride expects me; but hark'ee, when the Honey-Moon is over, about a Month or two hence, I may do you a small Favour.

Grant me some wild Expressions, Heav'ns, or I shall burst— Woman's Weakness, Man's Falshood, my own Shame, and Love's Disdain, at once swell up my Breast—Words, Words, or I shall burst.

Stay, Madam, you need not shun my sight; for if you are perfect Woman, you have Confidence to out-face a Crime, and bear the Charge of Guilt without a Blush.

The charge of Guilt! what? making a Fool of you? I've don't, and glory in the Act, the height of Female Justice were to make you all hang or drown, dissembling to the prejudice of Men is Virtue; and every Look, or Sigh, or Smile, or Tear that can deceive is Meritorious.

Very pretty Principles truly— if there be Truth in Woman, 'tis now in thee—Come, Madam, you know that you're discover'd, and be­ing sensible, you can't escape, you wou'd now turn to Bay. That Ring, Madam, proclaims you Guilty.

[Page 54]

O Monster, Villain, perfidious Villain! has he told you?

I'll tell it you, and loudly too.

O name it not —yes, speak it out, 'tis so just Punishment for put­ting Faith in Man, that I will bear it all; and let credulous Maids that trust their Honour to the Tongues of Men, thus hear their Shame proclaim'd— Speak now, what his busie Scandal, and your improving Malice both dare utter.

Your Falshood can't be reach'd by Malice, nor by Satyr; your Actions are the justest Libel on your Fame—your Words, your Looks, your Tears, I did believe in spight of common Fame. Nay, 'gainst my own Eyes, I still maintain'd your Truth. I imagin'd Wildair's boasting of your Favours to be the pure result of his own Vanity, at last he urg'd your taking Presents of him, as a convincing Proof of which; you Yesterday from him receiv'd that Ring—which Ring, that I might be sure he gave it, I lent him for that purpose.

Ha! you lent him for that purpose!

Yes, yes, Madam, I lent him for that purpose—no denying it— I know it well, for I have worn it long, and desire you now, Madam, to restore it to the just Owner.

The just Owner, think Sir, think but of what importance 'tis to own it, if you have Love and Honour in your Soul. 'Tis then most justly yours, if not, you are a Robber, and have stoln it basely.

Ha—your Words, like meeting Flints, have struck a Light to show me something strange—but tell me instantly, is not yo [...] real Name Manly?

Answer me first, did not you receive this Ring about Twelve Years ago?

I did.

And were not you about that time entertain'd two Nights at the House of Sir Oliver Manly in Oxfordshire.

I was, I was,

the blest remembrance fires my Soul with transport—I know the rest— you are the charming She, and I the happy Man.

How has blind Fortune stumbled on the right! — But where have you wander'd since, 'twas cruel to forsake me.

The particulars of my Fortune were too tedious now; but to dis­charge my self from the stain of Dishonour, I must tell you, that immedi­ately upon my return to the University, my Elder Brother and I quarrel'd; my Father, to prevent farther Mischief, posts me away to Travel: I writ to you from London, but fear the Letter came not to your Hands.

I never had the least account of you, by Letter or otherwise.

Three Years I liv'd abroad, and at my Return, found you were gone out of the Kingdom, tho' none cou'd tell me whither; missing you thus, I went to Flanders, serv'd King 'till the Peace commenc'd; then fortu­nately going on Board at Amsterdam, one Ship transported us both to [Page 55] England. At the [...]irst sight I lov'd, tho' ignorant of the hidden Cause — You may remember, Madam, that talking once of Marriage, I told you I was engag'd; to your dear self I meant.

Then Men are still most Generous and Brave—and to reward your Truth, an Estate of Three Thousand Pounds a Year waits your ac­ceptance; and if I can satisfie you in my past Conduct, and the reasons that engag'd me to deceive all Men, I shall expect the honourable perfor­mance of your Promise, and that you wou'd stay with me in England.

Stay, not Fame, nor Glory, e're shall part us more. My Honour can be no where more concern'd than here.

Oh, Sir Harry, Fortune has acted Miracles, the Story's strange and tedious, but all amounts to this. That Woman's Mind is charming as her Person, and I am made a Convert too to Beauty.

I wanted only this to make my Pleasure perfect.

So, Gentlemen and Ladies, is my Gracious Nephew Vizard among ye?

Sir, he dares not show his Face among such Honourable Company, for your Gracious Nephew is a—

What, Sir? Have a care what you say.

A Villain, Sir.

With all my Heart—I'll pardon you the beating me for that very Word. And pray, Sir Harry, when you see him next, tell him this News from me, that I have Disinherited him, that I will leave him as poor as a disbanded Quarter-Master. And this is the positive and stiff Resolution of Threescore and Ten, an Age that sticks as obstinately to its Purpose, as to the old Fashion of its Cloak.

You see, Madam,

how industriously Fortune has pu­nish'd his Offence to you.

I can scarcely, Sir, reckon it an Offence, considering the happy Consequences of it.

O, Sir Harry, he's as Hypocritical—

As your self, Mr. Alderman, how fares my good old Nurse, pray, Sir?

O Madam, I shall be even with you before I part with your Wri­tings and Money, that I have in my Hands.

A word with you, Mr. Alderman, do you know this Pocket-Book?

O Lord, it contains an Account of all my secret Practices in Tra­ding

how came you by it, Sir.

Sir Harry here dusted it out of your Pocket, at this Lady's House, yesterday: It contains an Account of some secret Practices in your Merchan­dizing; [Page 56] among the rest, the Counterpart of an Agreement with a Corre­spondent at Bourdeaux, about transporting French Wine in Spanish Casks— First return this Lady all her Writings, then I shall consider, whether I shall lay your Proceedings before the Parliament or not, whose Justice will never suffer your Smuggling to go unpunish'd.

O my poor Ship and Cargo.

Hark'ee, Master, you had as good come along with me to the Iubilee, now.

Come, Mr. Alderman, for once let a Woman advise; Wou'd you be thought an Honest Man, banish Covetousness, that worst Gout of Age; Avarice is a poor pilfering quality of the Soul, and will as certainly Cheat, as a Thief wou'd Steal—

Wou'd you be thought a Reformer of the Times, be less severe in your Censures, less rigid in your Precepts, and more strict in your Example.

Right, Madam, Vertue flows freer from Imitation, than Compul­sion, of which, Colonel, your Conversion and Mine are just Examples.